


Standing at the Edge of Paradise

by Morteamore



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Observer - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Classism, Cyberpunk, Disease, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Eye Trauma, M/M, Nanophage, Neo Noir, Overdose, Terminal Illnesses, Thriller, Torture, Young Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: In the city of Opportunity, Chiron Incorporated reigns supreme as the leader in cybernetic technology. But when a deadly disease known as the nanophage infects those implanted with Chiron tech, the company falls to their rival, Hyperion, who quickly turns them obsolete. For Rhys, Hyperion's success leads to a lucrative career, with two years as the CEO's PA and not a single sick day taken.All of that is shattered in a sudden and devastating turn of events. Stripped of all he once had, now Rhys must struggle against impossible odds, racing against the clock to try and save himself from the mistakes of Chiron's past. Hindered by Opportunity's lowliest denizens, hunted by a cybernetically enhanced individual known as an Observer capable of infiltrating people's minds, the only salvation he has may be his tenacious boyfriend and a powerful siren willing enough to offer her help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Though this borrows a great deal from the Observer lore, it's not necessary to be familiar with that source to follow the plot of this. The majority of what's been used is thematic, with the rest having contextual explanation. 
> 
> A lot of this was written to the discographies of Scandroid, The Midnight, and How to Destroy Angels as well as the Blade Runner soundtracks. I recommend giving any of those a listen as background noise, as they're good mood setters.
> 
> Also thanks to Conter who uttered that one comment a few months back that gave me the crazy idea to attempt this. If not for him, this would have never became what it is.
> 
> Enjoy!

It began at breakfast.

Rhys had thrown some leftover pancakes into the microwave and cracked some eggs to scramble when he felt it; a subtle sensation, yet still annoying enough to be a problem. He rubbed at his temples where it was concentrated in an attempt to relieve the tension there, knowing the gesture probably wasn’t going to bring much relief, if any. Perhaps once he ate some hot food and had a shower he’d feel better.

But even after a hasty meal and a quick rinse, the twinge managed to linger. In fact, as he buttoned his shirt and tucked in his tie, he thought it may have gotten worse. Opening the medicine cabinet, he found a bottle of over the counter painkillers and popped two of them, thinking twice before putting them back. Instead he slipped the rest into his leather messenger bag and finished getting ready. Work was in an hour, and even the bullet train would take up to fifteen minutes to get to Helios Tower. He liked to arrive early and have some breathing space before the boss made his appearance. It was easier to settle down and start the day that way.

By the time the train pulled out of the station, the painkillers still hadn’t kicked in. Rhys sat on the cushioned seat, eyes squinted. The lights seemed particularly bright that morning, the bustle of the other commuters too loud. He scrubbed at his face with his flesh and blood hand. Due to arrive at his destination in under five minutes, it seemed too late to call in sick. That, and he’d never taken a sick day in the two years he’d been with the company. Thinking of doing so now was near scandalous. 

Still, if he was feeling this off, he wouldn’t be very productive. Maybe he could just go in and ride it out for a bit, see if things got better. If not, he could always go home early. 

Arriving at the transport hub that had direct access to HQ, he entered the building, his thoughts having drifted to the previous night. Maybe he was just experiencing a low key form of a hangover. He _had_ indulged in a few drinks the night before, a couple more than what was the norm for him. Then there had been the mind-blowing sex, which had gotten a bit rough, the minor bruising still evident on his body. It was possible he was just dehydrated and fatigued and needed recharging. Hopefully it wasn’t that flu that was going around the company at some point. A few people from R&D had come down with it a couple of weeks ago after accidentally mishandling viral strain samples, and from there it had subsequently worked its way to other departments. Stepping on to the elevator, he wondered if a virus could linger in someone’s system that long without making them sick. 

“Morning, Mr. Alton,” came a feminine voice laden with a distinct drawl. 

The owner, being the boss’ secretary, was seated behind the front desk on the top most floor. Being a Class B citizen, she was from the lower city, where accents became more pronounced. A Class A citizen himself, Rhys spoke in plain, subdued tones.

“Morning, Meg,” Rhys managed to get out without grimacing in discomfort. “Did the big bossman manage to beat me here for once?”

“You kidding?” Meg rolled her eyes, lifting her coffee mug to slurp at it. “That man is eternally fashionably late.”

“Honestly? It’s kind of nice this way. Lets me breath a bit before the real rat race starts and all.”

“You and me both, hunny.”

Giving a weak salute, Rhys headed over to the large set of double doors across from the elevator. There were only three possible destinations situated on this floor. The War Room, the observation deck, and the boss’ office. Access to the office was off limits to anyone who wasn’t in the boss’ personal database or not invited. Rhys pressed his hand to the palm reader, the mechanism recognizing him, the doors sliding back. They closed once they sensed he’d crossed the threshold, the low lighting flickering on at the sign of human presence as well as the various electronics. The office was vast but drab, sparsely furnished and strictly functional by design. Its one remarkable feature was the enormous floor to ceiling window at the far end of the room, which looked out on the sprawling cityscape of Opportunity beyond. On a clear day, you could see as far as the lower city. Sometimes even as far as the housing developments built for Class C citizens known as The Stacks. Rhys had only seen the area from the office, never having reason to venture into that poverty-stricken and infamously dangerous part of the city. 

Having pushed his sickly feelings to the back of his mind, Rhys stashed his messenger bag and sat down at his desk, which was stationed in an alcove set away from the boss’. The first order of business was to check his company ECHO mail. His inbox was, of course, heaving with messages from a variety of departments, as well as other companies. Most were frivolous correspondences consisting of a single line or two, but some were more in-depth and important. He combed through them, eyes used to hunting down keywords and latching onto tidbits of information as if they were choice cuts of meat. So absorbed in his work that he was able to forget about his ailment, he nearly fell out of his chair when a large hand landed on his shoulder.

“Heya, babe,” came a voice close behind him, the hand patting him. “Is it too hot in here? You’re so flushed you’re practically sweating.” 

“N-no, it’s fine,” Rhys was quick to respond, swiping at his own forehead. It _did_ feel a bit clammy. Was he coming down with a fever now? Acquiring a cool, iced drink was suddenly his agenda. Breaking away from his boss, he headed over to the sideboard where the automated coffee machine sat, grabbing two worn mugs and some ice from a dispenser. The coffee was poured, and he turned back to the other man, proffering the warmer mug. “Did you sleep well, Jack?”

“Do you even have to ask?” With a smug grin, Jack hung up his leather jacket with the oversized golden ‘H’ on the back. He took his coffee and turned to his desk, setting it down as he fell into his ergonomic chair. “The real question is, how did _you_ sleep?”

Standing in place, Rhys held his coffee with two hands, not drinking it yet. “I dunno. Pretty good?”

Jack looked at him, raising a dark eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

Curt laughter escaped Rhys. “I mean, I was so exhausted I just conked out without even taking a shower. I figured you’d still be there in the morning.”

“I would’ve been if some asshole didn’t wake me in the middle of the night claiming it was a financial emergency.” Voice dipping low, sounding like he was choking on broken glass, Jack scowled. “Turns out he was just reading reports wrong, the shithead. Man, wish I could just strangle some of these guys sometime.”

“It’s better that you can’t. Just think of the resources we’re saving not having to hire and train new employees.”

A grunt from Jack, who took a sip from his mug. “We’ve _got_ to get better coffee. This shit is freakin’ sludge.”

“Sure, but I’ll have to write it off as a company expense.”

“Do it. Hyperion ain’t gonna fall because of gourmet coffee prices. Besides, how can I be the best CEO Pandora’s ever seen without my morning caffeine intake?”

“Can’t argue that.”

“Arguing with your boss who just _happens_ to be your boyfriend wouldn’t be the smartest move, either. Think of all the sex I could deny you.”

“As if you’d survive that.” Rolling his eyes, Rhys sat back down at his desk, taking a big gulp of his iced coffee. The liquid was immediately soothing, revitalizing him with its cold, caffeinated essence. This was probably all he needed to feel like himself again. 

That seemed to end the pair’s conversation. Rhys dove back into his work, Jack knowing better than to interrupt him. Besides, the CEO had his own mountain of work to sift through, and if he bantered with his boyfriend all morning, neither one of them would get anything done. Career wise, Jack’s life had been easier when he’d been just a hotshot engineer. But he supposed this was the price of being the president of the highest grossing cybernetics company on Pandora. 

It hadn’t always been this way. Chiron Incorporated had cornered the market on cybernetics, once upon a time. Some would say they even invented the modern technophile obsession, with their slick enhancements and state-of-the-art prosthetics. Rhys had first hand experience with that, being cybernetically enhanced with Chiron tech as he was. A childhood disease had made his need for it born out of necessity, his right arm and left eye having to be completely amputated and removed and replaced. Luckily he’d been born and raised a Class A, so his parents had no qualms with laying out the expenses for the costly surgery and keeping up with maintenance and upgrades as he grew. 

Lured by the plethora of inhuman capabilities his prosthetics gave him, the port in his temple had come some time later; Chiron’s most advanced technological invention, able to upload large amounts of data directly to the brain. Jack had a similar port in his neck, but it was Hyperion tech, made after Chiron crumbled under the weight of its own ambition. Ambition had not been the only element that had toppled the company, though. The rise of the scourge of modern medicine, the disease known as the nanophage, had surged through Chiron tech users like spiderants raiding a rival colony, devastating the population. It wasn’t long before the masses were screaming for Chiron’s head on a bloody pike.

Out of its ashes had risen Hyperion. Though the company had established itself as an alternative to Chiron’s monopoly during the titan’s reign, it had never quite reached the numbers Chiron boasted. The nanophage ended up eradicating that problem. In terms of the terminal disease’s symptoms, it only affected nano-machines, causing them to replicate and attack their host, eventually destroying their living tissues and organs. Chiron’s cybernetics had been nano-based, while Hyperion had developed special bio-tech that proved nano technology unnecessary. In the end, Hyperion prevailed, rising to power in the span of several months as Chiron was simply unable to contain the disease. Citizens who had already been loyalists to Hyperion tech heralded in the new era, only helping to skyrocket their popularity.

Despite having Chiron cybernetics, Rhys had managed to avoid the nanophage, and since outbreaks were rare these days among Class A citizens, he was at low risk. He hadn’t expected to land a job with Hyperion, though. Not when it was impossible to switch one’s cybernetics from Chiron to Hyperion, as the techs were incompatible. That didn’t stop him from being selected as one of the few candidates for the PA position. After several interviews, one in which was lead by the elusive CEO himself, Jack had been impressed with his credentials and demeanor. That had been two years ago. In the span of a year, that initial impression blossomed into something deeper, and Rhys had come to see the man as more than just his boss. Though kept clandestine, the two were involved in a serious relationship these days. 

Rhys only realized how much time in the day had passed when his stomach gave a loud growl. He glanced at the clock on his console, realizing it was already after lunchtime. Him and Jack had been so absorbed in their work that they’d hardly conversed since Jack’s arrival, let alone kept track of the hour. He’d even been so distracted he’d forgotten about feeling off. As soon as he wasn’t so intensely focused, the discomfort came back, maybe even worse now. 

“I think it’s time we took a break,” Rhys said aloud, standing up. Vertigo hit him for a second, and he steadied himself by grasping the edge of his desk.

“I could eat,” came Jack’s reply. He looked away from his screen, eyebrows raising when he saw the state Rhys was in. “You ok there, babe?”

There was a cough from the younger man as he managed the semblance of a smile. “I’ll be ok. I just have a headache that refuses to quit. Took some over-the-counter stuff this morning, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”

A humming noise escaped the CEO. He scratched at the tuft of hair below his lip, squinting at his boyfriend as if trying to assess if he were telling the truth or not.

“Really, I’m ok, Jack. I just need some air.” His messenger bag retrieved, Rhys secured it across his body. “I’m gonna grab us some food from Neon’s. What are you in the mood for?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“You know, you really should try and eat healthier. All that fat and grease really isn’t great for you.”

“A CEO needs calories to burn. Besides, if anything goes wrong with my ticker, Hyperion makes the best artificial organs around.” At Rhys’ stern look, his expression went blank, as if the other man had wiped it clean off his face. “Alright, alright. Hold the fried rakk egg. And the bacon, I guess.”

With a nod, Rhys hesitated, making sure he felt steady enough to walk through the city. When he figured he’d be fine to make the short trip, he gave a wave and headed out the door. The city was bustling, as it always was, pristine buildings rising into the sky adjacent to more modest civilian commodities, eateries, and boutiques. Opportunity’s Class A sector wore its wealth like fine clothes without flaunting them. Everything was clean and tidy, tending to fade into the background. Rhys enjoyed the stroll to his and Jack’s favorite lunchonette, the clean air easing his pain. Awaiting his turn once he’d stepped on line, he fidgeted, his patience thinned from his uncomfortable morning. Though the sickness didn’t manage to rear its frustrating head again and hinder him, he was glad when his order was finally called. He took the brimming bag the cashier handed to him and hurried out.

The walk back to Helios Tower was uneventful. He entered the office feeling far more chipper than he had all day. 

“One cheeseburger with fries, coming up,” Rhys said, approaching Jack’s desk.

“You’re my man, Rhys.” Jack paused. “That…was cringe worthy.”

“Yeah, it was.” The younger man sat the greasy bag with Neon’s stylized logo on it down and began sorting through the food. He removed an enormous cup first and pierced it with a straw.

“You berate me for my poor life choices, and yet you’re drinking that huge soda,” Jack commented.

“It’s a dairy-free carob shake.” Rhys sucked down a mouthful with a slurping noise.

“That’s hot. The sucking, I mean, not some nasty chocolate substitute. I’m putting that in the spank bank.” 

A snort came from Rhys. On the edge of laughter himself, Jack froze as if someone had pushed the pause button in his brain. When he finally moved again, his fingers went to Rhys’ port, gingerly brushing it. They came away smeared red, Rhys almost dropping his cup at the sight.

“Babe, you’re bleeding,” Jack said as if reiterating a fact.

Suddenly, Rhys was swaying, his ECHO eye flickering, going blurry and dim. Pain shot through his temple, not unlike he was being stabbed in the eye socket. He clutched at his face, crying out as the agony intensified. The shake slipped from his hand, falling into Jack’s lap and splashing its contents there on its way to the floor. The CEO ignored the mess, his only concern at the moment Rhys. His hand reached out to grab the younger man, trying to keep him from falling. But he ended up being too slow to react, Rhys sagging against him, collapsing as if he were a great machine whose engines had all been shut down simultaneously.

Jack slammed the intercom button, crouching to check Rhys’ pulse. It was weak, but there. He cradled his boyfriend’s body, trying to sit him upright.

“Meg, get medical up here STAT,” he yelled into the com, scrambling to find something to staunch Rhys’ bleeding.

XXX

_...function at 75%. Respiration stable…  
Patient unable to achieve lucidness…  
...one cc..._

The lights were as bright as Opportunity’s neon glow at dusk, searing Rhys’ eyes, making him squint. He flung his arm up to shield them, pain spiking through his hand as it jerked a long piece of thick tubing attached to it. Disorientation plagued him. His whole body ached. And there was a dryness in his mouth that was almost unbearable, his tongue feeling sheathed in cotton, cumbersome. That’s when he noticed he could only see out of one eye, his left side having gone dark.

It was soothing when the lights shifted, the shine no longer directly in his eyes, or eye, as it were. He dropped his arm only to see that someone was hovering over him. Dressed all in white, the person in question had a stoic and serious air to them, turning the mood immediately ominous. They sat down on a nearby armchair, Rhys realizing then that he was laying in a bed surrounded by bleeping and humming machines. A stark white sheet covered most of his body, and his clothes were gone, replaced with a thin gown. Something was taped to the side of his head where his port was. When he reached up, he could feel a bulky dressing.

Was he in a...hospital? What was he doing in a hospital?

“Rhys Alton?” came a woman’s voice that sounded professional.

Though his lips felt fastened together, Rhys found he could get his tongue to move enough to form words, or at least croak them out.

“Yeah. That’s me.” 

The woman didn’t immediately respond. She placed something on a tray next to his bed; a pitcher of water and a plastic cup, which she filled for him. He drank it down in one gulp.

“I’m doctor Yee. You’re currently on the Opportunity Private Health Clinic’s isolation ward in the A sector. It’s approximately 1:03am, Opportunity standard time.” She rattled off the date. “You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal, roughly twelve hours unconscious.” 

Twelve hours. He didn’t remember what had even happened, could only recall picking up lunch and making it back to Jack’s office. The void of memory bothered him. He was far from a forgetful person, especially since part of his brain was cybernetic.

“We noticed you had cybernetics integrated into your temporal lobe and that you had several small perforations near your neuro port, so we checked your medical records. Since it’s recorded that your cybernetics are Chiron, the decision was to run a biometric scan, despite your most recent check-up coming back negative.”

The air grew heavy. Rhys could feel it swathing him, nearly choking him. He didn’t want to hear what the doctor was going to say next. The conversational undertones were as clear as Opportunity’s skies. 

“Your nano-machine count is exceptionally high,” she continued in a deadpan. “We ran another biometric scan, just to be sure our results hadn’t been compromised.”

Rhys closed his eyes. “It came back positive, didn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

Silence. It went on for so long that Rhys was forced to open his eyes again to make sure the doctor was even there anymore. She was still sitting in the armchair, tablet in hand, face grave.

“Your official diagnosis is the nanophage.”

Hearing the word aloud was sobering. Somehow, it quelled the panic and anxiety that had been roiling in his gut, as if the very concept shut down his mind. This was shock, he realized. He was in such a state of shock that he’d gone numb and everything had morphed into some surreal dream.

“Now, you’re in an early enough stage for there to be options available. We can attempt to remove the Chiron technology and operate on the lobe, but there are risks involved. There will be damage to the nervous system that’s irreversible regardless of how successful the procedure is. There is also a ninety percent chance or higher that it may cause permanent brain damage or a coma.”

Rhys just stared straight ahead, unthinking, unmoving. His body was stiff, eyes glassy.

“Mr. Alton.” A hand gingerly touched his arm. 

His head turned in the doctor’s direction, his gaze meeting hers directly. He swallowed a lump that was lodged in his throat. 

“You have some time to make a decision. Should you refuse the surgery, the estimated duration of healthy functioning is three to six months. I suggest you discuss this with those significant to you. We’ll be moving you to quarantine in the next twenty-four hours.”

That snapped Rhys out of his trance, his incredulity spiking. “Wait, what about quarantine?”

“Though Hyperion is the mainstream cybernetic manufacturer, there are still a few individuals fitted with Chiron enhancements living in Sector A. We cannot risk you spreading the disease further. You’ll be allowed visitation by those that scan negative for Chiron technology or nano-machine activity.” The woman stood, clutching her tablet tightly to her side. “Mr. Lawrence is waiting to see you. Do you have anything you’d like to discuss or go more into depth about with me, or anything I can acquire for you?”

“Just please leave.”

“Very well. If you need anything, please use your call button. I’ll be returning within the next few hours. Try to rest as much as you can.”

With that nugget of advice, the doctor turned and strode out, almost as if she were turning her back on some terrible mishap. Rhys watched her go, feeling severed from both his emotions and reality. He didn’t know how long it was that he remained staring at the spot she’d exited, but eventually he heard voices outside the door. One in particular was louder than the others, distinct in its lilt. Moments later, Jack was striding into the room. He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands dipping into his pants pockets.

“Goddam, you gave me a scare there, Rhysie,” he said, eying the screen that was built into the bedframe. It had a long list of information on display, many terms of which were unfamiliar. “Whaddya say we never do that again, eh?”

“Jack….” Rhys couldn’t bring himself to say any more.

The other man collapsed into the chair the doctor had vacated only a few minutes before.

“For real, how you doing? You look like shit. Well, more than you did earlier.” When Rhys didn’t answer, Jack leaned forward, fingers gripping the chair’s armrests. “Hey. Pandora to Rhys. You in there, cupcake?”

Words passed from Rhys’ lips, muttered under his breath so that they were inaudible.

“Speak up. It’s not like I have those fancy bionic hearing enhancements or anything.”

“I said,” Rhys began, voice cracking. He reached for the water again, drinking it down until he was breathless. “I’m-I’m sick.”

“Der, I already know that. I’m the one that came with you here.” 

“No, Jack. I mean _sick_.”

With narrowed eyes, Jack sprung to his feet, looking like at that moment like some caged beast. His stance was on edge, as if he were about to start pacing. Instead he took a seat on the side of Rhys’ bed, reaching out to smooth back his boyfriend’s hair as if he were trying to keep his hands occupied.

“Whaddya saying, babe?”

Refusing to look at Jack, Rhys seemed to be attempting to make himself smaller by hunching under the sheet, as if expecting repercussions for what he was about to say. “I have the nanophage.”

The hand combing through Rhys’ hair stilled. The air seemed to stagnate, Jack’s body becoming statuesque. The moment was frozen in time, both their lives ground to a halt by some cosmic force.

“No. They fucked up your results somehow,” Jack protested after some time. “There is no way in _hell_ you contracted that. You’ve been around nothing but Class A’s all your life.”

“Like class has anything to do with it,” Rhys snapped, expression falling seconds later. “Sorry. I’m not myself right now.”

“Well, yeah, cos these doctors are clearly assholes.”

“They’re professionals, Jack. We aren’t.”

“Like they know _shit_ about _anything_. I’ll have the head doctor replaced. We’ll get a second opinion and sort this out.”

“There’s nothing to sort.”

Jack sprung from the bed then, heterochromatic eyes wild, lips turned up in a sneer. Waves of fury resonated from him, as if he were derived from a core of pure rage. The man could have a temper, as Rhys knew, but this grounded, quiet maelstrom was more terrifying.

“You ain’t dying on me. Not before I go. And I ain’t going anytime soon.”

Unable to find the words to address the statement, Rhys didn’t bother trying to reply. Jack’s obstinate view just made him wary at the moment, and he longed for solitude and time to mull things over on his own terms. He slumped back against his pillow, preparing to block Jack out, since the man likely wouldn’t be convinced to leave, when he remembered what the doctor had said about his status.

“They’re putting me in quarantine.”

“What? When?”

“Soon. Over the course of the next day.”

“You can’t go to The Stacks. No way in hell I’m letting those doctors toss you into that shithole.”

“I’m not going to The Stacks. It’s just quarantine.”

“Babe, what do you think they mean by quarantine? You think they’d let you just roam around Opportunity’s upper sector with the fuckin’ nanophage?”

“I…no, I guess not.”

“This ain’t the kind of quarantine where they tuck you into a nice comfy bed and tend to your needs like you’re an invalid or something.” Voice low, Jack said the words as if he were devoid of emotion. It was just straight, unadulterated fact. “You’re a threat, as far they’re concerned. There’s no cure for the nanophage, no coming back from it. You’re stripped of your status and thrown to the lowlifes and skagfuckers. And you? They’ll tear you apart, Rhysie.”

The more Jack spoke, the more Rhys felt like a void was opening up inside him, threatening to swallow him whole from the inside out.

“I can get you out of this. It’ll take me, I dunno, maybe some finagling and a bit of that miracle work I’m all so capable of. But I can’t do it right away. We have to be smart about this.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Rhys was overwhelmed by his own ennui, almost unable to continue. He found his voice regardless. “I’ll be gone soon. What the hell would even be the point?”

“I-I can fix that, too. R&D, I’ll push them around the clock. Until they can cure you.” 

“People have been working on a cure for _years_ , Jack.” 

“They didn’t have the power, influence, and finances that I have to throw at it. You forget who you’re dealing with.”

“A stubborn man who, as of this moment, is being really short-sighted.”

“The CEO of only the biggest corporation this planet has ever seen, you mean. Not even Chiron had what I have now.” Fists balling at his sides, Jack breathed in deep, let it out slowly. “Let’s not fight, babe. It’s probably best you stay as calm and collected as possible right now.”

Rhys wanted to protest that this wasn’t an argument, that he was just stating facts. But he couldn’t bring himself to bother, feeling the point of the conversation slip away the longer it dragged on. His boyfriend had him on an emotional roller coaster, distraught enough that his own words and emotions twisted and churned until they meant hardly anything. 

“So,” Jack continued, “I’m gonna head out, start pulling some strings. I swear I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t let ‘em take you anywhere without me. We ain’t official on paper or anything, and in the government’s eyes, that’s as good as strangers.” 

“Yeah,” was Rhys’ only reply.

Jack stood up from the bed, watching him for a few seconds. Then he bent down, pulling him into a brief kiss; just the slightst brushing of lips and it was over.

“We’ll get through this,” he said as he straightened up and moved towards the door. “Just hang in there a bit while I straighten some things out.” 

With that, he slipped out the door, leaving Rhys behind to wade in the cesspool of his thoughts alone.

XXX

The night wore on, passing at a crawl. Rhys couldn’t sleep. The glow of the dim ceiling lights cast shadows in the corners of the room that looked sinister. On the wall opposite him, a holoscreen showed an infomercial for some miracle weight loss product. The sound was off, the subtitles on, and though Rhys was looking at the screen, he wasn’t reading them. Images flashed of before and after pics depicting customers who’d used the product. At this point Rhys would’ve been shaking his head at how people were so easily duped. But now? It was keeping his mind comfortably numb.

Suddenly there were footsteps outside the room, the sound of the door creaking as it was opened. Perking up despite himself, Rhys deflated when he saw it was just a nurse. She sauntered over to the bed without a word, which Rhys thought was odd, her expression as blank as a robot’s gaze. Rhys saw something flash in her hand; something sharp and gleaming. 

Without warning, she stabbed whatever it was into his neck, causing him to flinch with unexpected pain.

“Wh-what?” he questioned, watching as doctor Yee entered the room some indecipherable time later trailed by two burly men in button-down lab coats. They wore surgical masks so Rhys couldn’t see their faces, but looked more like thugs than any medical personnel. 

“We can’t have Hyperion interfering with protocol,” the doctor said, placing a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “Allowing your boyfriend to be privy to certain information regarding your whereabouts would compromise our goal.”

Eyelids beginning to get heavy, jaw slackening so that words were hard to form, Rhys still managed to speak. “How do you...know about-”

“You and Mr. Lawrence? We rarely leave those infected with the nanophage unattended. Interpret that as you will.” 

Doctor Yee turned away then, motioning for the two men. The nurse who’d injected him with whatever had been in the needle had fled, probably not wanting to have any more involvement in the ordeal. Rhys felt rough hands on him, lifting him up, hefting his weight. He flopped around as if boneless, his tall, lanky form feeling feather light. He was placed in some kind of wheeled chamber, the walls transparent, the air breathable. But he was undoubtedly sealed in as he was pushed along the ward’s corridors until they came to an elevator marked ‘hospital personnel only’, which they boarded. 

One of the last visions Rhys had before he fell under the complete spell of whatever was coursing through his veins was the elevator doors closing shut behind them and Doctor Yee. She loomed like a giant above him, becoming the harbinger of his impending doom.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Rhys did when he awoke was reach out for Jack. Nightmares had plagued his sleep, sweat soaking into his bed clothes as he contorted his body into unnatural positions, trying to escape the abominations in his head. When his hand met empty space, he looked over, realizing the other man wasn’t there. Jack must have gotten up to use the bathroom or start breakfast. He didn’t smell the glorious scents of the man’s cooking, though, or hear the rustle of any movement. The dwelling around him was devoid of such distinct noises. But he could hear other sounds, out of place and unfamiliar. Like strange scratching coming from within the wall next to him and the muffled exchange of voices somewhere far off. Jack did not have any neighbors. He owned an estate that resided apart from the city with shear acres of private space. Anybody who trespassed risked triggering the automated security system.

So why was he hearing other people? Did Jack have guests? 

He threw back the duvet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, thoughts and vision swimming before he even stood up. Clutching his head, he felt a bulky dressing attached to him, memories flooding his mind like he’d just shoved one too many clusters of data into his port, his brain overloaded with the flux of information. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand, floor creaking beneath his stockinged feet. At least he still had his favorite pair of socks, he thought wildly as he braced himself against the wall. The dampness there seeped into the warmth of his palm, as if it could penetrate his very pores. 

He stumbled away from the bed, unable to process much about his environment save for the fact it was decrepit and bare. Still, although scant, there were _some_ furnishings; a holoscreen and an old couch, a closet where several different shirts hanging on rusted hangers, and a kitchenette with outdated appliances. The whole place could’ve probably fit into Jack’s master bedroom, claustrophobic as it was. 

What was this place? Where was he?

Intrinsically, he knew. There was no other place as terrible as this in Opportunity, no other place as forgotten and left to rot.

The Stacks.

He was in Opportunity’s vast network of housing projects, where Class C’s dwelled like a colony of roaches beneath the heel of the upper city. What and who had brought him here was all too much at the forefront of his memory. He rubbed at his ECHO eye, taking note it was still dead, his thoughts shifting. 

Jack. 

Jack didn’t know where he was. Rhys had to try and contact him, see if his boyfriend could save him from this festering cesspool. What he’d said the day before, that this all didn’t matter since he was due to expire anyway, was all but forgotten. Living suddenly mattered, as did freedom. Being holed up like this, a wounded animal left to fend for itself without any close personal contacts, was just too much for him to bear on top of his terminal sentence. He needed to get out. _Now_. Raising his palm, he attempted to ring Jack’s ECHO, biting his lip, trying not to whimper.

_The ECHO signal you are attempting to engage is currently unavailable from your location. Please disconnect and re-attempt the signal if you think you have reached this message in error._

His breath growing ragged, tension building at the back of his neck like a coiling serpent, Rhys could feel the panic welling up from where it had been being kept at bay since he’d woken up in the hospital. It was filling him with dread, draining all rational thought to replace it with jumbled, clashing ideas. In the bowels of his mind, he could interpret nothing but _run, run, run_. And he did just that, launching himself at what he could only assume was the front door, yanking it open to reveal a narrow hallway in such a state of decay it could barely be recognized as somewhere people lived. There were empty boxes and debris everywhere, open panels in the walls revealing the entwined wires and ductworks of the building’s guts. Rhys managed to avoid stepping on any garbage by sheer luck, finding a stairwell and racing down it. It brought him out to a lobby, where an overweight man wearing a stained tank top and sporting two cybernetic arms and a metal plate on his head sat behind bulletproof glass. He eyed Rhys as he ran past, but he paid no mind back, slamming into a double set of doors marked ‘exit’. They swung open without protest, spilling him out on to darkened street, the closest lamppost blown out. Across the road, in a building with only a single window lit, three figures hovering on the front steps turned in his direction. Rhys thought he saw an eye glow beneath one of their hoods, scanning him, no doubt. He didn’t waste any time standing there, hurrying off down the road, socks slapping against damp and steaming pavement. It must have just rained, as the smell of ozone hung on the air, heady and cloying. 

Rhys didn’t know how far he traveled, the distance between him and the room he’d awoken in growing further by the second. Lungs burning, feet aching, he ran through a strip of shimmering lights and the occasional cluster of people until he could no longer withstand it, sweat drenching his hospital gown as he slowed. Hands on his knees, he panted hard.

“Hey,” a gruff voice called out.

With a jerk of his head, Rhys looked around, the street around him seemingly devoid of humans. Finally he saw the person who’d addressed him, the tall, skinny figure leaning against a squat building. A neon sign above him read _The Purple Skag_ in flowing script. His ankles crossed, one hand clutching something, he gestured with the other.

“Yeah, you. The dork in the hospital threads.” 

Wary but far from clear-headed, Rhys dared to step closer, able to feel the cold seeping through his socks now that his senses were once against registering things. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Your fault for being out here in just your discharge clothes.” 

Whatever the man held in his hand was lifted to his mouth. It lit up as his lips wrapped around a mouthpiece of some sort, illuminating his features. He was scruffy and young, short blond hair spiked at the bangs, a matching goatee on his chin. In his right nostril was a hooped piercing, two similar hoops in the upper part of his right ear. Smoke trailed from him as his arm dropped back to his side.

“You’re that new kid in The Stacks, aren’t ya? Saw them bring you in before. You must be someone important, getting all that special treatment.”

Rhys just stared at him as if he couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. The man snorted.

“Do you even know where you are right now?”

“The Stacks.” Rhys’ voice was matter-of-fact, confident save for a slight waver.

“Sure. But this is more than The Stacks. This is Sector C, where everyone goes to die together.”

“You’re...what are are you saying?”

“That you got smacked with a diagnosis of the nanophage and they threw you into quarantine.”

“I know _that_. Please, just don’t remind me.”

“Then why are you asking what you already know?”

Frustration welled up in Rhys, rising to the surface quick enough that he felt like he had plucked the trait directly from Jack and installed it into his own brain. 

Another drag on his device, and the man was inclining his head. “What’s your name?”

Shifting in discomfort, Rhys said, “It’s Rhys.”

“Reese?”

“No, R—”

The man waved him to silence. “Whatever. I’m August. Why don’t you come in for a drink?”

“Thanks, but no. I don’t really drink.” Looking down at himself, Rhys felt embarrassed at last, glad despite how it made him feel. Anything was better than numbness and panic. “I’m also only wearing this stupid gown.”

“Well, as long as you got your y-fronts on and aren’t sitting your bare ass on my couches, I’m fine with that.”

“Ah, this is your place then?”

“Won it in a card game.” Breaking away from the wall, August nodded toward a side alley, walking in that direction. “Nobody here’s gonna give a shit if you’re half-naked.” 

Hesitation rooted Rhys to the spot. August was still a stranger, despite being friendly. There was also something about him that threw Rhys off, as if he expected the man to shed his skin at any moment and reveal some deadly creature beneath. 

“I ain’t got forever,” August called over his shoulder. “Either come or don’t. Not like I care.”

Another shiver ran through Rhys. He could stand to warm up, and he didn’t exactly want to go back to that depressing room he’d been in, nor lock himself away with nothing to keep him company but his own mind. Taking a step forward, he found it was easy enough to put one foot in front of the other, following August to a door built into the side of the building. It was wrenched open with the sound of metal scraping solid rock. They passed through it into a bare foyer with a staircase that lead up to the darkened unknown. Rhys figured they would walk further down the corridor into the front room, but August led him up the steps, pushing through the door atop them. 

It opened into a wide living room, windows draped with blackout blinds even against the night, area rug covering the warped, stained boards of the wooden floor. There was a screen on the wall that was showing a news program, the two plush couches arranged in front of it currently occupied. On one sat a blue-haired woman in a skintight bodysuit and cargo pants, an unlabelled bottle with a long neck dangling from her manicured hand. A brilliant, swirling tattoo that coiled and looped around itself spread from her neckline down to her wrist. Apparently it also went past her hip, as Rhys could see some of the ink poking out from a wedge of bare flesh between her waistline and the hem of her bodysuit. She was in a quiet conversation with a lounging man next to her, who had a pair of goggles pushed up on to his red bandanna, a thick pointed beard on his chin. She passed the bottle to him and he drank deeply, dark eyes falling on Rhys as he stepped further into the room.

The other couch was taken up by a sole occupant, his size as intimidating as the sneer on his face. He wore no shirt, just a pair of overalls, a can of beer dwarfed in his meaty fist.

In the back of the room was a kitchen, a small rounded table set up there. Two men sat at it, one muscular with a strange mohawk and slatted glasses, the other much smaller, pale, beady eyes set in a pasty face with a curled pencil mustache. They had a spread before them that wasn’t familiar to Rhys, blazing bright liquids in corked tubes and things that resembled battery packs. They were making careful measurements, pouring things between each other and inventing new colors. Silent as they did so, Rhys knew he was watching something unfold that wasn’t too kosher by nature.

“Whose this guy, boss?” the man in the overalls asked, voice heavy with a twang.

“A friend,” August answered, moving towards the kitchen. “His name’s Reese.”

Rhys opened his mouth to correct the mis-pronunciation, then shut it when he realized everyone was staring at him. Standing there in the room with nothing to occupy himself with, he felt awkward and on edge, wishing he had decided against following the other man. It was too late to regret his decision now. 

“Siddown,” called August’s voice. To the two men at the table, he added, “How’s the new batch coming along?”

“Not good, Auggie,” the smaller man said, slight accent to his tone. 

“I told you never to call me that, Kroger.”

“Fine. Doesn’t change the fact the Professor didn’t give very clear instructions for handling this stuff.”

“Improvise. You guys are good at that, right?” 

August continued on into the depths of the apartment, opening a fridge built into the wall. He pulled out two bottles filled with a dark liquid and something else Rhys couldn’t make out. 

“We’re security, not pushers,” the larger man spoke up.

Security? Rhys was pretty sure he’d never seen security forces holing up with Class C’s. At least not licensed officers. And they definitely didn’t treat their superiors as if they were in charge of some kind of operation. Eying the array of liquids again, it dawned on Rhys just exactly what he may have walked into. 

“Thanks for inviting me, August,” he spoke up, edging back toward the door. “I just remembered I-I have to try and contact someone.” 

It wasn’t a downright lie. He really needed to find some way to get in touch with Jack instead of wasting his time in this sordid den.

“We don’t bite,” August replied. “Stay awhile.” The man came closer, one of the bottles extended in invitation.

“No. I really can’t.”

“Rhys. Sit. Down.”

An air of danger infiltrated the room as if it had just been raided by the law. Any moment it felt like August would pounce, either pulling a weapon on him or beating him to a bloody pulp. Rhys couldn’t predict which, not appreciating the uncertain feeling that sat at the back of his mind like a time bomb, threatening to explode and send his guts flying across the room at any moment. He found himself lowering on to a couch cushion, the man in overalls at his side. August pulled up a battered, duct-taped ottoman to the coffee table and sat, plunking down a handful of tiny colorful cartridges. Cold sweat beaded Rhys’ skin. The man beside him took a long gulp of beer and burped, unconcerned with what was going on as he stared at the room’s holoscreen.

“How much pain you in?” August asked.

It was better if he answered honestly, Rhys assumed. He assessed how he felt beginning with his freezing feet and working up to his clouded head. There were some twinges of pain at his joints and around where his port was bandaged, but nothing so severe it distracted him. He shrugged.

“I’m fine.”

“You won’t be. Not for long.” He nodded towards Rhys’ bandage. “You’re probably at the puncture stage.”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t looked under the dressing yet. But my ECHO eye’s malfunctioning.”

“Check him, Tector.”

Rough hands grabbed Rhys then, tugging at the material of his gown. He yelped as the collar was pulled sideways to reveal the junction where his cybernetic arm met real flesh. There, barely noticeable but nonetheless present, were minuscule lacerations that had scabbed over. They had more of an impact on Rhys than anything else since his whole ordeal had begun. Seeing those distinct wounds, so raw and tangible, drove home the fact that his testing positive for nanophage hadn’t been the product of electronic failure, as Jack had so willingly wanted to believe. The weight of that knowledge bared down hard enough to almost invoke a whole new bout of panic, but Rhys was all too rational right now to allow himself to succumb to emotional overload again. 

“We can heal that for you,” August said.

“No, it’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“It’ll get infected and rot.” The blue-haired woman was already rising, making her way over to him. “Then you won’t just die in pain, but probably get gangrene and die in _excruciating_ pain.” She took roost on the couch’s armrest closest to Rhys. He flinched as she reached out and touched his bandage. “Hold still.”

The dressing was undone, her fingernails working to release the medical tape. A low whistle passed her lips as she studied what was underneath.

“Nice port augmentation. It must have set you back a pretty credit. Too bad it was Chiron tech.” She tossed the gauze on to the coffee table, the material spotted with dried blood. “This won’t take long.”

As if illuminated by latent bio essence, the girl’s tattoos ignited in a searing display. Rhys’ eyes widened, trying to fathom what he was witnessing. 

Fingers pressed gingerly to his port. There was a sudden warmth there, as if the sun were bearing down on that particular spot. Out of instinct, he squeezed his eyes shut, the heat radiating in waves but remaining centered on the area. Something appeared to crackle in his head, a sharp noise that startled him. His eyes slid open an inch and he realized he was perceiving the world through both of them again, though the relay for his ECHO display stayed grainy. 

It was a miraculous recovery, but his rational mind refused to believe such superstitious nonsense. There had to be some explanation. Even as the woman moved to his right shoulder, he was shifting through his vast knowledge of cyber tech, wondering if any could be tweaked to produce some kind of frequency able to repair neuro pathways. That, of course, didn’t explain how she could heal the flesh wounds, but he could only process one question at a time lest he overtax his already burdened head. 

A minute ticked by, maybe more. Rhys could only hear the hum of energy against his skin and the buzz of the news report on the holoscreen, all other sounds having receded. Finally, the girl pulled away, ruffling his already disheveled hair, and Tector let him ago. He stared at his shoulder, at the smooth, unblemished pale skin there, the crease where it met his robotics once again seamless.

“How did you do that?”

“What, you’ve never heard of a siren before?” A smug smile graced her features. She saluted him before getting up and moving back to where she’d been lounging earlier. “Pass that bottle over, Mordecai,” she said to the man who’d been next to her. “I need to replenish my energy.” 

Siren. He should’ve known by the tattoo what he was dealing with. But how could he have? Not only did Jack have a much vaster knowledge of the sirens than he did, but they were supposed to be a myth; something told about in old tomes that had been made with primitive materials like paper and glue and stored in the House of Archives. Rhys had only visited there once, on a school trip in his primary years. He saw no use for rotting pages discussing ideas and concepts that were obsolete. 

Jack, however, held the place in high regard, had even manipulated politics into declaring it a national landmark. He was no avid reader, by far, but he had a healthy interest in ancient history. And not everything had been committed to digital recording. 

You good?” August caught his attention again. 

“I suppose,” Rhys said, tone conflicted. “I’m not sure what just happened, but at least I can see again.”

“That’s just Maya working her mojo. It can’t cure you, but I hear it helps with everything else.”

“Only heard?”

“Not all of us are here cos we actually got the ‘phage. Some just had the bad luck to be born in this shithole, myself included.”

“You’ve got Chiron tech augmentations though, right? That means you’re susceptible.”

“Nah. Maya owns a chop shop. We get tons of Hyperion junk here. She just mods it and shit, sticks it in better than new.”

“Jack would _hate_ you guys.” 

“Jack?” August’s brow furrowed. “Jack Lawrence of Hyperion? What’s that douchebag got to do with anything?”

Rhys had to keep himself from snapping back, so kneejerk was his reaction. “I’m only saying that he’d be miffed if he knew what was being done with his company’s discarded property.” Careful not to show too much investment in the subject, he shrugged. “I hear the guy hates to lose profit.”

“Oh yeah? He can suck it. Far as we’re concerned, he’s no better than the suits at Chiron were.” 

Silence from Rhys, who knew better than to engage in debates with civilians about his boyfriend. They didn’t know Jack like he did, were only familiar with the man who posed as the face of Hyperion. Sure, he could be a dick no matter what role he was cast in, but he had his decent traits. And as far as Rhys was concerned, crawling across a corporate corpse to finish the race in the champion position shouldn’t herald as much loathing as people seemed to believe it did. If there was one thing that peeved him, it was individuals that chose Hyperion and Jack as the targets for their vitriol simply because they were corporate and successful. As if economical growth was terrible for civilized society or something. 

Strange, cylindrical contraption in hand, August was opening a compartment inside it, taking up one of the colored liquid cartridges and pushing till it snapped in place. He manipulated something that Rhys didn’t quite see, a spout springing forth from the top. It looked a lot like the device he’d been taking drags from outside, and as he lifted it to his lips, Rhys knew it was the same exact one from the way it lit up. One drag, then two, smoke billowing around his head, rising to the ceiling. August held the device out to Rhys then, obviously expecting him to take it.

“Oh, no,” he declined. “I don’t do...whatever it is you’re doing.”

The other man rolled his eyes. “Don’t drink, don’t smoke. You are _definitely_ a Class A.”

If not for it being the truth, Rhys would’ve been offended. But he couldn’t argue fact, and so he kept his mouth shut. Just as he figured the conversation was settled, he felt his flesh hand being grabbed and tugged, August jamming the object of debate against his palm. 

“One drag,” he said. “It’ll clear your head and calm you down.”

Those words sounded encumbered, dragged down by their ominous nature. His distrust for August spiked tenfold, a creeping sensation oozing down his spine. Everything told him to resist the other man, to ignore the urge to give in and quell his shattered psyche, even though he had no reason to trust that it would work. That, and he was rather averse to sharing things that had been in other people’s mouths. He didn’t even like sharing things with Jack. Probably something leftover from when he’d been ill as a child.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Rhys.” Somehow August was still managing to mispronounce his name. He forced Rhys’ hand closed so he could pull away. “I don’t give just anyone this stuff for free.”

Finding himself gripping the vaporizer, Rhys was at a loss of how to proceed. He could set it down on the coffee table, refuse. He looked around the room, considering the others. They couldn’t force him to take it. Could they? 

“You’ll regret it if you don’t take it, man,” the one who’d been dubbed Mordecai spoke up. “The ‘phage hurts worse than getting your bones picked clean by rakks.”

Trying to scan the device with his eye, Rhys received nothing but error messages. “What is this stuff, anyway?” 

“Fungal extract,” August answered. “All natural.”

Rhys didn’t know much about fungi, only that some were rather palatable and costly. They didn’t grow naturally on Pandora, so were synthetically farmed in a variety of species. Which meant that people did _other_ things with them as well, apparently. 

“Just get it over with already,” came Maya’s impatient voice. “The suspense is killing me.”

Maybe sirens had telepathic powers, because something about her words settled Rhys’ mind. Jack had never mentioned anything like that in discussion, but it wasn’t like he was a siren encyclopedia. Rhys’ fingers twitched with nervous energy as he raised the vaporizer, a nervous laugh bubbling up. In all his life, he never thought he’d end up in a shitty room above a bar in The Stacks, having his first taste of a potent drug. The most he’d ever done was take more than the prescribed dosage of over-the-counter pain inhibitors. He may as well embrace these new experiences, though. They were going to shape the rest of his short life.

The drag he took from the mouthpiece was long; longer than was probably necessary, given that he was a substance virgin as well as a lightweight. As he drew it away, he was already feeling light-headed, his body wracked by a coughing fit as he held the smoke in his lungs for too long.

“Burns,” was all he managed to wrangle out.

August rolled his eyes. “No shit. You took in too much. Go easy next time.”

Eyes watering, Rhys swiped at his face, ready to toss the vaporizer away. He didn’t need to feel even more awful than he already did. Something was stopping him, though. An implacable force he couldn’t quite fathom, as if the fibers of his being had been seized and were under another’s control. 

He found himself sucking down another lungful of smoke, this time drawing off before he could overdo it.

“Thatta boy,” August said. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

XXX

When Jack’s doorbell chimed, he looked over to the monitor displaying the exterior of the estate’s front entrance. There, a man of average height stood, black overcoat drawn around him, open to reveal a suit beneath of the same color, golden H’s stitched into the lapels. A briefcase dangled from one of his hands, the other tucked casually in his pocket. Jack buzzed him in without a word, the doors parting, the man stepping through them. He hesitated in the foyer as if awaiting further commands.

Jack came out to meet him, looking like utter shit. Dark bags weighted his eyes down as if he hadn’t slept, hair ruffled and sticking up erratically. There was stubble peppering his chin and cheeks, his shirt rumpled, lounge pants sagging on his hips. 

“Hugo Vasquez,” he said, voice gravelly. “Just the man I’ve been waiting for.”

“Well, you did call me, sir.” Hugo removed his hand from his pocket, offering it in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jack slid his own hand into the other man’s and gave a curt shake.

“You wanna beer or something?” he asked, the lingering scent of alcohol evident on his breath. “Cos I was just gonna get another.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

Gesturing for Hugo to follow him, Jack made his way down a hallway with minimalist design, which did nothing to diminish its lavish air. Mostly because of the oversized piece of modern art taking up one wall, depicting the sprawl of Opportunity’s A sector. Hugo’s gaze was drawn to it as they walked past, all the small details springing forth the longer he scrutinized it.

“Very nice choice of decor,” he commented. “I do appreciate the fine arts.”

“Eh?” Jack glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged as the hall opened up into a modern kitchen. Everything was cutting edge, from the computerized refrigerator to the floor length bay windows at the back of the room, which looked out on to a lush garden. “You mean the artwork? Most of them were gifts from clients.”

“I see.”

Hugo stood in awkward silence as Jack rummaged through the fridge and plucked a frigid bottle from its interior. With a crack, he opened it, inclining his head to gulp down its contents. A loud burp escaped him as he drew his mouth off the lip. 

“So,” he said, taking another sip. “I think you know why I invited you here.” 

“I believe so,” the other man replied. “Though I never expected this meeting would be so private.”

“Yeah, well, don’t want every last asshole knowing shit they don’t need to, right?”

“I suppose.” Hugo raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s take this to my office. I got all the info there.”

The office was a subdued affair for someone like Jack, looking more like a cottage room than one in a luxurious home. The walls were paneled with real wood, the furniture just as authentic. There were taxidermied Pandoran fauna on the walls, some even rare or extinct. The windows behind the desk were average, with real drapings instead of electronic blinds. Jack took a seat in an archaic chair at the desk, waving Vasquez to one of the seats opposite him. 

“Retro,” Hugo commented as he lowered himself into the cushioned seat. “I like it.”

With a sweep of his arm, Jack tried knocking a cluster of empty bottles into a trash can, missing, for the most part. He cursed as some clattered against the floor, deciding to leave them there. The lone survivor was a squat cubic glass with a tall bottle next to it, the label reading something foreign, likely imported from another planet.

“On average,” Jack said, “how much ass would you say you suck on a daily basis?” 

“Excuse me, sir?”

“It’s just, ya know, you’re kinda giving me competition.” 

The other man sputtered, at a loss for words. 

“Now that we’ve somehow gotten to the subject of my boyfriend in a roundabout way, may as well tell you why you’re here.” Tapping on the keyboard on his desk, Jack brought his computer console to life. He clicked through some text, tabs opening and closing in rapid fire succession until he landed on a picture of a sole person.

“I know that you haven’t always worked for Hyperion,” Jack said, eyes on the holo display. “A fresh-faced, starry-eyed Hugo was once among the brave men of Opportunity’s finest.”

“That was a long time ago. I haven’t worked for the cyberforce in a decade. Hyperion’s severance package was so much more appealing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thing is, you’re still equipped to handle mindjacking, right?”

“Technically speaking, yes, I am.”

“I sense a ‘but’ there.”

“You see, sir, it’s not that I don’t want to offer you my assistance. It’s just that there are _complications_ that come with the territory.”

“Complications that outweigh the fact that I’ll be paying you double your yearly salary?”

Hugo wished he’d accepted that beer earlier, his throat feeling raw and dry. 

“Thought so.” Jack’s voice was smug. “Knew there was a reason you were VP of Securities Propaganda.”

“I want to accept your offer. But there’s unfortunately going to have to be some negotiations. For one, if I’m going to be an Observer, I’ll need access to a supply of Synchrozene.” 

“Done. That isn’t much of a negotiation, ya know.”

“Fine. Then I’ll need three months off after the job is done. For rehabilitation purposes after I no doubt develop a Syncrozene habit.”

“Wait.” Running a hand through his already messy hair, Jack made it stick up even more in a crest. “I’m giving you steady access to expensive drugs only for you to need time off to stop taking those expensive drugs? Are you seriously asking me to do that?”

“Sir, it’s a necessary part of being an Observer. I can’t do my job without mindjacking, and every time I mindjack, I’m risking my own mental breakdown and the loss of my faculties.”

“And you need the Syncrozene for that?” At Hugo’s nod, he shook his own head. “Shit.” The word came out a prolonged drawl.

“If there was a way around it, I’d attempt it. But messing with what works isn’t always the smartest solution.”

“It’s fine. Just glad I never decided to join up with the force. Doesn’t sound like a whole lot of pleasantries.” 

“Why do you think I left?”

“No mystery there.” Jack went back to typing at his console, bringing a few more things up on the holo. “Anywho, back to the point of all this. I need you to locate a man named Rhys Alton.”

“The same Rhys Alton that works as your personal assistant?”

“That would be him.”

“So the rumors are true.”

“Rumors?” Eyebrows raised towards his hairline, Jack’s gaze locked with Hugo’s. 

“Er, yes, it’s been speculated by some of my colleagues that you two were involved with each other,” Vasquez was quick to answer, barely getting the words out without fumbling. “I’ve never involved myself with such immature water cooler chitchat. In fact, these things often go over my head. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised.” 

“Trust me, it was a shock for me, too. What can I say? Kid does great work. Helps that he’s a damn fine PA, too.”

“Right, of course.”

“Now, I know what you’re thinking.” He didn’t give Hugo time to respond. “You’re wondering why if he’s _so_ important to me, then why haven’t I filed a missing persons report with the cyberforce. Clearly my prolific name would pressure them into quick results. And you’d be right. Only this isn’t as straightforward as it seems.”

“Oh? I did figure as much. Why else would you be calling in an ex-Observer.”

“Did you now?”

Midway through his nod, Vasquez paused, frowning. Jack snorted.

“Regardless,” he told his subordinate, “it’s a delicate case. Rhys was transferred to The Stacks for quarantine. They shipped him off under my nose and refuse to tell me where the fuck he is. Too afraid I’ll try and rescue him, get me?”

Hugo shifted in his seat, trying to appear casual. His discomfort was evident, though. The stiff way he held himself, the way his hands gripped at the armrests of the chair. He looked ready to leap up and exit the room, the only thing rooting him to the spot being Jack’s oppressive presence. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, sir?”

“Depends. What do you think I’m saying?”

“That Rhys Alton has the nanophage and that you’re attempting to break one of Opportunity’s strictest laws by sending an Observer in for a search and rescue.”

Jack drained some more of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Just when it seemed he was finished, he tossed the empty bottle into the trash and reached for the glass on his desk, filling it with the contents of the other bottle beside it.

“Ya know, it kinda sounds like you really don’t approve. I mean, I get it. You used to be cyberforce. Upholding the law was your job. It’s only normal you’d wanna keep the midnight oil burning.”

“I don’t really follow you.”

“Oh, no. No. You don’t get to play dumb with me.”

“Sir, I think you may have had too much to drink. Maybe we should have this conversation again after you’ve laid down for a bit.”

“Do you _want_ me to shoot your ass?” Rising from his desk, Jack loomed over it, hands gripping the edge. “Cos I will. Don’t push me.”

“I apologize if I was being offensive. It won’t—”

“Just stop talking. Shut up.” Flopping back down, it was as if Jack was a marionette with its strings severed. He sagged against the cushion of the seat, looking all but defeated. “I just—I just want you to find him. That’s all. No fancy rescue or nothing. That would be both suicide and murder. I wanna know he’s alright. ‘Kay? You just can’t understand what this is like, having one of the few things that matter in your life taken from you without any way to retrieve it. Waking up expecting to be able to hold him in your arms, only to realize he’s gone and you may never see him again. I-I need to know he’s alive.”

“Okay, okay. You can rest assured. If he’s out there, then I’ll find him. I have a perfect track record.”

“And you’re not just saying that? I mean, I can’t even get in touch with him through that thing you do, ya know, with the paper, and that building, and...and you write. On the paper.”

“A letter?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that. I can’t even use _that_. And it’s super primitive tech. I even had to learn how to do it. You know how hard it is to learn fancy handwriting overnight?”

“I understand, and I’m truly sorry you had to go through that.”

“No, you can’t get it. You and your wife, every night, probably tucked in bed and everything. And here I am, just going fucking _mad_ wondering if Rhys is even still alive. It’s brutal, I tell ya.”

“Alright, sir, let’s just calm down.” Hugo held up his hands, intending to go on. He never got the chance, jaw working as if grinding down the words he’d been about to say.

“Are you saying I should just sit idle on my ass thinking everything is gonna be hunky dory? Because that ain’t happening.”

“No. How about we fast-forward a bit to the part where you give me the instructions. Does that sound alright?”

“There’s not much. All the info you need is on here.” Seeming to come back to himself, Jack raised his glass and drained it before unlocking one of the desk draws. He pulled out a micro drive, holding it up for Vasquez to see. “Open the briefcase and stick it on the desk.”

Doing as told, Hugo keyed in the security code and set the case down, sliding it across to Jack. The other man yanked the top up, glancing inside before slipping a thin, folded object into the case’s pocket. He then placed a larger object in the center, covering it with what looked like rolled clothing and snapping it shut.

“There. All set.” As Vasquez took the case back from him, he was also handed the drive. “Follow the instructions exactly as they say on that and we won’t have a problem. Do anything it says not to, and not only will you be out of a job, but I make sure you’re banished to the ends of Pandora. Am I clear?”

“Crys-tal.”

“Great. No doubt you can find your way out of here on your own. I’d show you to the door but, eh, I’ve lost all drive to get up from this chair. Touch anything and it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

“That’s perfectly fine, sir. I’ll manage.” With that, Hugo stood, grasping the briefcase and turning towards the door. “You can sleep easy, now. I’ll have word back to you within the next forty-eight hours.”

“Be quicker than that and I may just give you a bonus.” Reaching for the open bottle of liquor, Jack forwent the glass entirely this time in favor of drinking straight from the mouth. He inclined his head, making awful noises as he knocked back the contents. “Ciao.”

No sooner was Vasquez out the door when a chime came from Jack’s console. The bottle set down, he stared at the screen a moment before accepting the incoming call. There was nothing more he wanted to do than crawl back to bed and burrow under the covers, but he was still a CEO, even if he was working remotely.

“What?” he barked at the screen, his bleary eyes squinted at the glow.

“Mr. Lawrence, sir?” came a voice Jack didn’t recognize. It was wizened and just shy of frail, giving away that whoever he was speaking to was long in the tooth. There was no video to accompany it. “This is a representative from Opportunity Now News Network. We would like to schedule a press conference with you post haste. There are a few articles of interest we’d like to address regarding Hyperion’s current situation.” 

Jack sat there without speaking for so long that the man on the line grew impatient.

“This is the number for Mr. Lawrence’s private ECHO, is it not?” 

Cradling his head in his hands, Jack’s fingers snarled in his hair, nearly wrenching it out. 

“Fuck,” he growled and slumped back in his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore) and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/Morteamore/)!


	3. Chapter 3

**One Year Earlier**

That evening, _The Diamond Pony_ had barred its doors against an imminent threat, thwarting the plans of the diners that had made reservations as long ago as three months back. Though Jack and Rhys were among the unfortunate lot, they were in agreement that they weren’t going to let the evening they’d anticipated for weeks evade them simply because of uncanny circumstances. With the night’s climate chilled to a comfortable degree, it felt like autumn even though it was the height of summer. The pair took full advantage of the weather after a heated day, strolling the sidewalks in casual leisure, avoiding pedestrian traffic and road blocks. They’d have to find a different section of the A sector to dine in, most of the areas they typically traversed barricaded by police at the moment. However, there seemed to be a distinct lack of cyberforce additions to supplement normal patrol forces. Odd, but not unheard of. Observers were no longer as commonly deployed to deal with violent crime and homicide since Chiron had fallen, most addressed on a case by case basis. Hyperion had heavier regulations on how and how much the mindjack tech was used. Liability reasons, mostly. But also because the company claimed to be attempting to build a better city. That claim scrolled endlessly on their digi advert right smack in Hero’s Square, the heart of Sector A. 

****

**Hyperion: Working Together To Bring You A Brighter, Better Opportunity.**

Their path twisting and turning, main hubs turned into smaller streets, bustling crowds simmering down into trickles of individuals. Jack puffed on a rare handmade cigarette as they strolled, joking and laughing with Rhys, who was more subdued. Every so often he’d glance at the CEO when he thought he wasn’t looking, the burning, day glo lights of the city reflected in his mis-colored eyes as he studied the man. 

“Here’s a decent joint,” Jack piped up, glancing up at an animated sign with a striped awning. He tamped down the lit end of his cigarette, tossing the butt in a nearby receptacle. “It ain’t refined food, but it ain’t chum, either.”

“I don’t care as long as it’s edible,” Rhys replied, stomach giving a low growl. “I’m so hungry I’d happily eat those instant noodle packs if you handed me one.” 

“No noodles for my special boy. Tonight we dine on premium meat.”

The younger man couldn’t help but chuckle as they entered the small eatery. Being a weekday night, it was only semi-busy, the spattering of individuals that had decided on this particular place not bothering to look over at their entrance. A hostess approached them with an overly cheerful smile that looked pasted on, showing them to a table, digital menus embedded directly into the tabletop. Activating the screens allowed them to order and pay at their owns convenience. She left them to it, Jack already scrolling through his own. 

“Monster aged Eden steak burrito or individual loaded flatbread pizza?” he said aloud, though he was obviously musing to himself. 

“Talk about carb city.”

“Says the guy who orders unlimited chocolate chip banana pancakes with hash browns. From the take-out. In case he gets hungry before lunchtime.”

“Hey, it was the daily special. And they said they’d deliver how ever many batches I asked for.”

“Whatever, kiddo. Whatcha think ya hungry for?”

“Uhm.” Rhys used his fingertip to slide the menu downward, eying each entree with quick precision. “Chicken fried chicken?”

Guffaws rang out from the other side of the table, deep and rich. They attracted some attention, but it wasn’t as if Jack paid the other diners any mind. He allowed his laughter to die down before speaking again.

“And you’re yelling at _me_ about carbs.”

“I wasn’t yelling. I was just pointing out—”

“Mr. Lawrence, sir, you should really stop eating all that junk you put in your system,” Jack mocked. “You’re gonna get twice your size. And then I won’t wanna date ya.”

Rolling his eyes, Rhys claimed, “I never said that.”

“It ain’t what you say, Rhysie, it’s what you imply. And those absolutely _scathing_ looks you give me?” Jack clucked his tongue. “They break my cold, dead heart.” 

“Don’t be an ass, Jack.” Though the younger man appeared exasperated, he gave a soft smile. “Besides, this is our first time being able to eat together without your entourage tagging along.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I guess that’s fair. I mean, technically it _is_ a first date by those standards, even if it ain’t the kind of place where you can order a five-hundred credit glass of cognac.”

“It’s fine. Who needs foie gras when we get to spend quality time together?” 

They selected their choices, the waitress coming some time later carrying two steaming plates piled high with delectables. Jack dug into the pizza he had finally decided on, cheese and meat oozing from the sides, dripping on to his plate. He swiped a finger to spool the lost contents, sticking it in his mouth to clean it off. It was washed down with a swig of imported beer.

Rhys wanted to smack himself. The man had no manners, but at least he wasn’t talking with his mouth full. Yet. He cut into his chicken, swiping it on the mound of mashed potatoes on his plate, chewing and swallowing before he opened his mouth to speak again.

Whatever conversation they were about to have was interrupted by the blaring of the holoscreen that was mounted to the restaurant’s wall. Someone had turned the volume up, screams piercing the air. It took Rhys several moments to realize they were coming from the holo, but the gasps around him were definitely being emitted by the other diners.

 **Outbreak in Opportunity’s A Sector, Epicurean Quarter,** the headline on the holo read.

_...We go now to Paul Deckard live at the scene._

_Thank you, Minerva. Panic broke out among Opportunity’s exclusive restaurant destinations when a man in medical dressings threatened to release a device outside _The Diamond Pony_ restaurant that would transmit the nanophage to those in the vicinity. He appeared to be carrying a handheld biological weapon speculated to contain strains of the disease. Though many individuals who faced the possible assault were immune because of their Hyperion brand cybernetics, those outfitted with Chiron technology were also among the crowd. The perpetrator was safely contained and turned over to Opportunity’s cyberforce to be interrogated by Observer detectives. No word yet on his identity, but officials believe there may be some tie to anti-Hyperion terrorist groups._

“Fucking asshole.” Jack’s voice was like a jagged metal edge as he spoke. He’d let his pizza flop back to his plate. “They’d risk causing something that serious just to fuck my company over? How does that even logically work? I mean, it ain’t even like it affects Hyperion clientele.”

Saying nothing, Rhys stared down at his food, suddenly losing his appetite. Talk of the nanophage always unsettled him, considering he was one of the few Class A’s left boasting Chiron cybernetics. If there was an outbreak, he would be susceptible. 

There was a guttural sound from Jack. “Let’s just get out of here. Before someone recognizes me and the rakk swarm swoops in.”

The other man could only manage a nod. Paying via the console, Jack all but manhandled Rhys out of the establishment. 

“Where are we heading?” Rhys asked, more somber than he’d been earlier. 

“My place. I’ll have my car pick us up.”

Rhys didn’t know how he felt about that. In truth, he just wanted to go home and rest his wary head. But if he said as much, it would likely upset Jack, and the CEO was still pretty aloof when it came to declaring exactly how he felt about Rhys. Obviously there’d been mutual attraction, or they wouldn’t have bothered fumbling through the last few weeks trying to figure out how they could confront one another about their feelings. Still, Rhys didn’t want to set them on a convoluted path just when it seemed they were finding their way. 

They found a secluded corner where they could wait for the car, the sleek, aerodynamic vehicle purring as it rolled to a stop before them. They slid into the backseat, Rhys feeling a sliver of shock as he realized there was no driver in the front. The entire console looked to be controlled by some intricate AI. 

“What, you never seen an autonomous car before?” Jack asked with a wide grin. He didn’t wait for a reply. “They’re going to be all the rage soon. Everybody will have one. Trust me.”

As Rhys closed the door he saw that, instead of the cityscape, the windows displayed a lush forest complete with fauna going about their typical business. Except for the biodomes in the city and scattered erratically on the planet, there was no natural environment on Pandora that mimicked the display. All food sources and farmland were synthetically grown and the product of terraforming.

The vehicle responded without hesitation as Jack told it to take them home, prowling through the streets like some sleek, powerful beast. While they sat back for the ride, they engaged in small talk, Rhys trying to take his mind off the news report, Jack attempting to ease his own simmering annoyance. At some point in the conversation, Rhys felt a hand come to rest on his knee. He paid it no mind, thinking Jack might not even be aware of what he was doing. Not until it slid up his thigh and the other man leaned in closer, that was. Rhys’ heart sped up. He felt like he’d broken out in a sweat, though his skin was far from clammy. Jack was invading his senses, making him squirm internally. Never before had the man done more than given him looks of obvious appraisal. He’d ramped things up so far so quickly that Rhys didn’t even know how he felt about what was happening. On one hand, he was glad the tension that had lingered so long between them was finally breaking. Anymore time spent enduring it, and he probably would’ve made an ass of himself. On the other hand, the situation was not in his control, and Jack was unpredictable. Things could end up being amazing and cathartic, or raze their entire relationship to the ground.

There was no more time for analyzing, no more time for debating with himself. Jack’s fingers snarled in his hair, pulling him in like some black hole made flesh. Their lips met. Rhys tasted pizza, and beer, and the faintest traces of tobacco, almost wanting to laugh at how much of a contrast it was to what he’d imagined kissing Jack was like. Thankfully the laughter stayed lodged in his chest. 

Hands worked the buttons of his shirt, popping them open with ease, as if Jack practiced this kind of thing on a regular basis. He probably did, considering what Rhys knew of him. He went with it, not reciprocating, not yet. Too many things were outweighing desire, including the current environment. If he was going to finally get laid by Jack Lawrence, he didn’t want it to be in the back of a car, no matter how costly said car was.

“It’s not that I don’t like this,” he said, pulling away. “But can we at least save it till we make it to your place?”

“Like I’d fuck you for the first time in the back of my car.” Jack snorted, giving Rhys his space as he pulled back and swiped at his mouth, obvious reluctance in the gesture. “I have more class than that, cupcake.”

Suddenly, something icy and wet was battering against his skin, driving into him like hundreds of pinpricks. He made a surprised noise, pulling away from Jack, trying to escape the discomfort. But it was no use. Whatever it was kept pelting him, and there was no avoiding the onslaught. Everything was fading around him, Jack’s form wavering, becoming a phantom.

Soon there was nothing there at all. 

He fell into it, losing himself.

**XXX**

It was raining. Or at least that’s what Rhys thought as his eyes cracked open, lids feeling like lead. He was lying on something cold and hard, a chill running deep down to his bones. And it was only getting worse as time wore on. He realized his skin was wet, that whatever was causing his temperature to plummet was still plaguing him. He sat up quickly, a strange hollow sound accompanying his movements.

“Looks like your fever broke,” someone said. 

Rhys’ head whipped to the side. He saw a blue-haired woman standing a few feet away, hands on her hips. Maya, he remembered her name was. She reached to adjust something on the wall and suddenly the constant cold vanished, leaving him shivering.

“Consider yourself one lucky bastard. August was just going to leave you to fend for yourself, but I decided, hey, he doesn’t seem all that bad.”

Rhys stared at her, expression blank.

“Don’t say thanks or nothing.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” 

Trying to make sense of things, Rhys scanned the room, avoiding using his ECHO eye. The cybernetic still wasn’t working at one hundred percent. From what he could make out, he was in a bathroom of sorts, though it was extremely simple in design. Just a toilet, a sink, and a bathtub, which he seemed to be residing in. His hospital gown was soaked through, clinging to his chest and legs. 

“Here,” Maya said, grabbing something off the tiled floor. 

The clothing she handed him looked like they had some wear to them, but they smelled alright. Thankfully, underwear wasn’t included in the ensemble, as there was no way he was wearing second hand underwear. Nor was he going to keep the ones he was wearing on, which, by now, he’d been sporting for over a day. It wasn’t like he didn’t go commando now and again. 

Rhys rose from the tub and gave Maya a look. She caught his drift and turned her back on him, allowing him to change. The clothing was far from flattering, the outfit consisting of some kind of hooded garment with strange strips of cloth hanging from it and a pair of wrinkled cargo pants. The sneakers he’d been given seemed to fit, but he longed for his own wardrobe, the impeccable color schemes and designs of his favorite outfits; his comfortable and stylish skag skin boots. What he was wearing now made him look like a desert bandit.

“There’s food, if you want it. Homemade skag scrapple.”

He had to control his gag reflex, so violent was the reaction. He’d never eaten skag before, and he wasn’t curious enough to try. Jack claimed it was delicious, which made him even more skeptical. 

“Great,” he answered.

Maybe his tone was a bit too sarcastic, as Maya raised an eyebrow.

“You can starve, if you prefer. Your choice.”

She left then, leaving Rhys with his strange, sagging clothing and his scattered thoughts. He eventually ended up following her, not wanting to be alone at the moment. Stepping out into the room he’d been in previously, the place seemed more lively than it had been when he’d last seen it, the two men and their table piled with weird liquids gone, replaced by a gaggle of bodies sitting around it. They were deep in the throes of conversation, and there was a face or two he didn’t recognize.

“Heya, newb,” someone said as he approached. 

Rhys looked over to see a girl with bright ginger pigtails. One of her arms was cybernetic, though so basic in design it could’ve been a prototype. He’d never seen anything like it. Not by Chiron, and definitely not by Hyperion. Likely he was staring, because she laughed.

“It’s nothing like your arm. I built mine myself.”

“That’s not exactly legal,” he said without thinking.

Someone snorted. 

“You really aren’t from around here,” the pigtailed girl said. “I’m Gaige.”

“Rhys.”

“Grub’s done,” came Mordecai’s voice from the kitchen area. “Line up before it gets cold.”

Disposable plates were handed out, a portion of the scrapple plopped on from Mordecai’s cooking ware. There was toast as well, and some kind of spread that Rhys was afraid to try. But since everyone else seemed to be taking ample portions of it, he scooped some on to his plate as well. Most everybody settled back around the table, taking up the seats there, so he decided to sit on the couch, using the coffee table to set down his spread. Shoving some of the scrapple in his mouth, he considered the flavor. It wasn’t food from _Neon’s_ , but it wasn’t absolute gruel, either. Even with his picky palate he managed to get most of it down. The spread on the toast was a different story. Overly salted, it made him cringe upon his first bite. He left the toast unfinished, patting his mostly satisfied stomach. 

“How’s our ‘A’ boy doing?” 

Rhys looked up to see August approaching. He hadn’t noticed he’d been missing for the meal. 

When Rhys didn’t answer, he continued, “You gave us a real scare there last night. I didn’t think you’d be that much of a lightweight.”

“What exactly happened?”

“You passed out and shit. Some kind of fever. Could be the ‘phage, but I dunno. Maya brought it down. I got talked into throwing you into the tub.”

“Remind me never to do that garbage again.”

One corner of his mouth twitching, August said, “Won’t be your last time. Not when you start to get worse.”

A frown settled on Rhys’ face, permanently fixating there as dread bled from some deep crevice in his mind. The food in his stomach felt heavy then, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of stones. 

“Does it usually give you strange dreams?” he asked, the memory of his dream surfacing along with everything else. 

“Dreams? Not really. Sometimes flashbacks. It fucks with your sense of time.”

“I felt like I was really there.”

“Yeah, get used to that. It can be a fun ride if you roll with it.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll happen.”

August shrugged. “Not my problem. Anyway, you’ve got an appointment with the professor.” 

“Should I even ask?”

“No. Not like I could tell you, anyway. You have to see for yourself.”

“That guy’s such a douche,” Gaige piped up, having obviously been eavesdropping. “Skeeves me, too.”

“Nobody asked you. Besides, without him, I’d be up shit’s creak for a supplier.”

Having no idea what the two were talking about, Rhys just wanted them to shut up. Most of all, he didn’t want to meet whoever this professor figure was. Weirdly, he’d developed an instant like for Gaige. Maybe it was just her kickass arm. But if she said the guy was of an unsavory variety, then he was inclined to believe her. 

Moments later, he was being ushered off the couch by August before he could protest. There wasn’t even much time to get his bearings. The only ones that seemed to be paying any attention to his plight were Maya and Gaige, the former looking bored, the latter pitying. Neither bothered to interfere.

Outside, Tector was sitting in front of the bar, barely awake. August didn’t bother getting on his case. _The Purple Skag_ likely wasn’t busy at this hour. That thought made Rhys check his palm clock. Surprisingly, it was early afternoon, though the sky did little to validate that. It was overcast, deprived of the sun entirely as a misting rain came down. He realized the cloud cover was more likely smog than anything cumulus.

They walked in silence among streets that smelled like mildew and waste. Some of the buildings around them were in such a state of disrepair that they had gaping holes in their structures, which exposed their decaying interiors. Others were so bad off that they had imploded. A couple seemed to be surviving, though were far from in a pristine state. The sector was just about silent, Rhys realizing that was because a distinct lack of vehicular traffic. If he saw someone on something motorized, it was usually an electric bike or similar form of transport. 

After some time, they came to a section of the sector that was dominated by big box warehouses. Most had faded Chiron logos plastered on them, now drawn over with graffiti, which boasted numerous slurs against the fallen corporation. They passed through a weed laden lot and came to a cargo bay, which was missing its doors, the crumbling wall in their place looking like it’d been blasted open with explosives.

Expecting a gutted interior brimming with rusted machines, Rhys was surprised when they entered into a state-of-the-art space. Various apparatuses and computers sat, old enough to no longer be gleaming but not worn enough to be grimy with age. Out of place in what Rhys could only describe as a lab of some sort, dark stains marred the ground, some smeared on the equipment. They were particularly centered on something that looked like test subjects were supposed to be strapped down to its flat exterior.

Rhys found himself gulping. Before he could tell August he wanted out of there or he’d lose his breakfast, he heard a loud skittering. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“August, is that you?” a voice called out from all around them, gravelly and thick. There was something sleazy about it that set Rhys off right away. The longer he lingered there, the more he wanted to tuck his tail between his legs and bolt. “Good, good. You brought the infected. Well done. I’ll have your bonus prepared for you as soon as I can manage.”

A pair of doors at the far end of the room slid open, a lone figure making its way through them. It was hard to make sense of its form, as distorted and abnormal as it was. Rhys felt his mouth gape slightly at the sight as he tried to comprehend it.

Thin, purplish arms covered in scales and ending in hooked talons dangled from a hunched, lanky torso dressed in a lab coat and ripped shorts. Its legs were bent unnaturally, digitigrade in nature, also scaled and clawed. There was an extensive tale protruding from behind it, swishing in lazy fashion.

Perhaps the most disorienting and horrible feature it displayed of all was its head. It was a human one with an equally human expression. By its looks, it appeared to be male, thick beard on his chin and cheeks, head balding. He wore a pair of eyeglasses over piercing, slitted pupils.

“What’s the matter, boy?” the man asked in his unsettling voice. “Have you never seen a splicer before?”

“His name’s Rhys,” August said, giving Rhys a shove forward. “Rhys, meet professor Nakayama.”

**XXX**

Though it was not the safest action, to venture into the C Sector after dark, Vasquez preferred it. There wasn’t any real advantage to it. With its junkies and hustlers, the sector thrived under the cover of darkness, the hive buzzing even louder in the night. As an ex-member of the cyberforce, it was what he was used to: feeling like a phantom hound, prowling the derelict streets in search of a lead, or the perp, or whatever was the order of the day. This mission was a bit different than his field days, easier by nature. Finding someone and passing along information was a lot less dangerous than wrangling a psychopath. Of course, this wasn’t as open and shut of a case as it appeared to be. He knew Jack had lied to and manipulated him. Once he’d opened his case and examined the items Jack had sent him away with, he knew the man’s intentions would be more than communication with his boyfriend. Hell, he could see it in Jack’s eyes that day during their meeting, hear it in his voice. The CEO of Hyperion would not rest until he had Rhys back at his side.

Vasquez couldn’t allow that. As someone who’d upheld Opportunity law at one point, as a Sector A citizen, he couldn’t sit back and let someone risk another nanophage epidemic merely because they were the CEO of an all-powerful corporation. On the cyberforce, he’d hated when anybody had thought themselves above the law simply because of their standing in society. Just because the job had changed and the boss had changed didn’t mean his opinion had. If anything, being manipulated fortified his conviction.

He’d need it, given the task he was going to have to perform.

Which was having to kill Rhys. 

Vasquez didn’t know the younger man well, had only seen him either at meetings or in Helios Tower going about his business. At first, Hugo had mistaken him for an intern or gofer, given that he was sporting Chiron tech and was rather on the young side. When he’d found out soon enough that Rhys was Jack’s PA, he had to admit he’d been jealous. Not many people were ever considered for the position, and Rhys had been the polar opposite of the prime candidates. He’d come out of nowhere, swept up the job, and had lingered there far longer than anyone who had come before him. In fact, that’s how the rumors had begun, about Jack being involved with Rhys.

Of course, that had turned out to be true. If the company was failing, he would’ve been more critical of the situation. Thriving as it was, however? As long as they weren’t planning to elope, things were golden.

Of course, once Vasquez had completed his task, that would no longer matter.

Noticing the vehicle he was traveling in had come to a languid stop, Vasquez pushed the button to lower the partition between him and the driver. Currently the man on the other side was scrolling through a tablet, the car in autonomous mode. 

“Why are we stopping?” Hugo asked in one breath.

Startled, the driver fumbled his tablet and looked out through the windshield, the wipers dragging at the glass as they swept the light rain away. As he squinted, one hand went to the wheel, pressing an indentation there. 

“The threat is set at high risk today,” the man explained. “This is as far as transports can take their passengers. You’ll have to hoof it to the next checkpoint.” There was a pause, a slight tremble entering the man’s voice. “You an Observer?”

“Was.” The rear door unlocking, Vasquez’s gloved hand wrapped around the handle. “Business just isn’t what it used to be.” A push upward, and the door was sliding vertically. 

“Yeah. Good. Great. Could you maybe get out of my vehicle now?”

Stepping out into the empty, damp street, Vasquez didn’t offer a retort. The car pulled away soon after, the tires squealing as it accelerated too quickly, leaving him deserted in the bowels of Sector B. He knew the way to the checkpoint and where it would lead to, and thought it was best not to dawdle. The sooner he began his hunt, the sooner he could lay the case to rest.

Cyberforce was stationed at the checkpoint, as they’d normally be. One masked individual tilted their head at him, the bottlish lenses of their headgear reflecting nothing but darkness. 

“I wasn’t informed an Observer was being deployed to this location,” he said, voice under his gear taking on an echoing quality, sounding wary. There was also a distinct chewing sound, as if the man was grinding something down with his teeth. 

“They aren’t,” Vasquez replied, tone smooth. “I’m not here on official Observer business.”

“Makes my job easier. You wanna step into the scanner for me then, sir?”

Making no move to defy the man, Hugo entered the body scanner and waited until the officer spoke again. 

“You’re good. That Hyperion tech you got checks out as legit.”

“Oh, really? And here I thought this black market stuff wouldn’t hold up to a scan.”

The officer chuckled, albeit with a slight nervous lilt. “You can move on to the gate. But watch your back tonight. The natives are restless.”

“I’ll try not to rile them up more than I have to.”

A loud beeping pierced the night as Vasquez approached the towering C Sector divisional gate. There was no line waiting to get in tonight, just him, and as the partitions slid away from each other to reveal the city beyond, he tried to keep a shudder at bay. Once he’d passed the threshold that separated the sectors, it had all but been obliterated, but he couldn’t help but let the memory of it linger. Rarely did Vasquez feel dread or fear, confident enough that his skills and wit could get him out of any bind. This was different. It was like the future had already unfurled in front of him and he was shuddering at what he was witnessing; a ridiculous thought, maybe, but not unsound. Sector C was anything if not a terrifying vision of a future that could’ve been, should Chiron have stayed in power.

Bending back the golden pinkie on his right hand (the only finger that poked from his glove, and probably what had identified him as an Observer), he revealed the connector there, inserting it into the port on his tablet until it dinged. Information scrolled across the screen: all the information Jack had given him on Rhys, last known whereabouts and possible relocations included. The Stacks were numerous, the nanophage victims placed at random among them when quarantined. It could be difficult to find a single person. That was, if one didn’t have the right connections. Vasquez selected a number on his device, listening as it dialed via a series of cybernetics implanted directly into his auditory cortex. Having an ECHO com on hand was never a requirement for him. As long as he had something to send the numerical signal, he could communicate with the person on the other end.

Someone picked up after the rings had gone on for awhile. 

“August.” 

“Just the man I wanted to talk to.”

“Hugo Vasquez.” There was a pause. “Thought you were retired.” 

“I was, I was. But anyone will come out of retirement for the right price.”

A soft snort came through the line. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

“Look. There’s some things I think you could help me with. Primarily, hunting down a fresh case of nano.” 

“Like you said, if the price is right….”

Smiling to himself, Hugo said, “Excellent.”


	4. Chapter 4

The testing had gone on for a long while, much to Rhys’ annoyance and discomfort. If he was nervous and wary of Nakayama upon his first glimpse of the humanoid, the professor’s bedside manner only aggravated the matter. He was like a mad doctor straight from some fantastical holo film, the kind of guy you could see working for Chiron while they knew the nanophage was a threat yet refused to stop production of their cybernetic lines. 

But Nakayama had never worked for Chiron. He, in fact, had worked for a genetic engineering company, whose name he had refused to disclose, claiming they’d let him go for ‘creative differences’. Whatever the hell that meant. Rhys didn’t really care much for the professor’s back story. He just wanted to be rid of that horrible clicking his claws made on the lab’s cement floor. His poking, his prodding; his goddam _awful breath_. 

“There we go, boy,” the humanoid had rasped, sticking a final electrode over his port. “Now we’ll see how much use you have left in you.”

The ominous sound of those words had made Rhys’ gorge rise. But every time he’d been about to open his mouth to voice his complaints, August had given him a pointed look. The man hadn’t said much past introductions, but he’d been hovering in the corner the entire time of the examination, arms crossed over his chest as if he were playing the role of a bouncer there to keep the peace. 

“Yes, this is most excellent,” Nakayama had muttered, watching the readouts on his machines. Clawed hands folding over each other, he raised his voice an octave higher. “You aren’t so far gone yet as some of the others who’ve I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Probably the most likely candidate in over a year.”

“Likely for curing?” Rhys asked, not trusting the professor’s tone. 

Nakayama laughed and licked his lips, the slits of his pupils widening. “In a sense, in a sense.” 

“I guess expecting a straightforward answer was too much to ask for.”

“That _is_ straightforward for the professor,” August remarked.

“Yes, yes.” With a hard tap, Nakayama checked something off on a tablet that was laying on a nearby counter. It was close enough that if Rhys used his ECHO eye, he might be able to read it. But as soon as the faint glow activated, the professor snapped at him. “Oh no, boy. No cybernetic use here. It’ll compromise my results. Now turn that off before I manually disable it.”

Sharp teeth bared, Nakayama had to say no more before Rhys was powering the eye down. It wasn’t like him, to back down from conflict so easily, at least of the verbal kind. Usually he would be planning a solution, Jack wary but supportive enough. Here he was, though, alone with a drug pusher and a genetic nightmare, diseased and utterly out of his element. It had him at a major disadvantage.

“Let’s move on to the next tier, shall we?” Nakayama extended a claw toward Rhys to assist him, but the man managed to lower himself off the examination table without trouble. “Oh, this my favorite part. The _invasive_ tests.”

Breaking away from the wall, August shook his head. “Could you maybe not scare the shit out of all of my clients?”

“Client?” Rhys shook his head and gave a curt laugh. “Since when?”

“Since last night,” the other man replied, voice serious enough to be threatening.

“Just because I smoked your _fungi_ doesn’t make me a client. It was a one time thing.”

“Oh, you’ll be back. I can guarantee it. Those withdrawals are nothing to laugh about. Ask anyone.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes, ready to speak again. Nakayama had other plans.

“Rhys, was it?” A good amount of time had passed since their introduction to each other, so Rhys just blinked at the professor, wondering why he was even bothering to ask at this point. “Follow me. We’ll be requiring a different facility for the next few steps.”

Making to accompany them, something in August’s pocket chimed. He removed it; an ECHO device, his eyes squinting at the incoming identification. 

“I gotta take this,” he said, waving them on. “I’ll catch up with you guys.”

Though Rhys didn’t relish going anywhere alone with Nakayama (not that August was there to protect him anyway), he followed without fuss, sitting down in an actual chair in the next room instead of on an examination berth. This place was a bit different than the last, outfitted with more computers but less equipment. It had an inviting look rather than the cold, clinical aesthetic of the rest of the lab. 

As soon as Rhys was comfortable, he was hooked up to a headpiece with a mess of tangled wires dangling from it like limp strands of hair. There was a faint pulse of energy emanating from the strip encircling his skull, which crawled along his scalp not unlike the touch of invisible fingers. 

“Now, boy, that monitor there is going to display one question at a time. You are to answer to the best of your ability, slowly and precisely. You foul up and I’m afraid we can’t reverse the results. You see how it is.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Really? Great.” The professor made a gleeful hissing noise then cleared his throat. “Question one.” 

Preparing himself, this was not what Rhys had been expecting. When he’d heard the tests were meant to be invasive, he imagined all sorts of apparatuses plunging beneath his skin, introducing him to a world of agony that he couldn’t evade. Whatever was happening now was a pleasant surprise. It was almost like an improvised job interview. Which most people would find daunting, but Rhys was never one to mind. The questions came, seemingly endless, and he answered them with curt and accurate replies. Some seemed like plain nonsense (like the one asking him for his theory on why hallucinatory fungi tasted like sour candies) but some were philosophical and deep, obviously having no true answer. It reminded him of certain programs ran to differentiate AI from human consciousness. He wondered exactly what the professor’s goal was, how kosher this procedure might be. Then again, experiments conducted in an abandoned Chiron warehouse in Sector C by a rogue splicer who may or may not hold a legit doctorate weren’t exactly the epitome of legit.

They were wrapping up when August walked back in, his expression contorted into something indecipherable. 

“We almost done here?” he asked, an agitated edge to his tone. “I got people to see.”

“Just a moment. The system has a modicum of capacity left. I’d like to maybe squeeze—”

“We’re done. Rhys, take that shit off of you.”

“Gladly.” 

Nakayama sputtered as Rhys reached up and all but ripped the crown of circuitry from his head. Letting it fall without care, it swung from its connectors, swaying precariously close to the floor. 

“You’re compromising data!” Voice a snarl, the professor’s eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty light, claws flexing. “I thought we had an agreement, August?”

“Yeah. And we’ve got an Observer moving in. Which, to me, seems like the more important issue.”

“Oh. Yes. Oh, of course. We must keep the officers placated if we wish to remain covert. How foolish of me.”

“Don’t sweat it. But I gotta take Rhys here away for a bit. You can do what you need to do tomorrow.”

“By all means. The lab isn’t going anywhere for the time being.”

“I think you owe me something before I leave?”

The humanoid’s feet shifted as if he were nervous. “I do have it. But.”

There was a raise of an eyebrow from August. “But?”

“It hasn’t been fully synthesized yet. The result is, shall we say, ah, potent, yes? Perhaps you should give it more time.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Gimme it as is.”

“Right. Very well.”

Seeing that both the professor and August were leaving the room, Rhys followed behind, feeling almost forgotten. August was clearly concerned with something far more important than his presence. When Nakayama led them into the cold storage and removed a handful of colored cartridges, sticking them in a pouch, he understood why. As soon as the pouch was zippered and snapped closed, August grabbed it. 

“I can almost _smell_ the profit I’m gonna make off this. You’re a fucking genius, Nakayama.”

“Precisely.”

“Come on, Rhys. Let’s go give this shit a whirl before my meeting.”

“I’ll give that a hard pass,” Rhys replied.

“Nope. As a matter of fact, I don’t think you will.”

**XXX**

_Breaking News._

_And now for a special report._

_Good evening. This is Opportunity Now News Network, where citizens come first. We interrupt the current programming to bring you live to the location of the Hyperion press conference scheduled to begin in less than ten minutes in downtown Opportunity, Sector A. The conference is being held in regard to a recent case of the nanophage reported in Opportunity’s A Sector just a little over twenty-four hours ago. Victim was one Rhys Alton, twenty-three, who was employed by the Hyperion corporation acting as personal assistant to their current Chief Executive Officer, Jack Lawrence. Mr. Alton received care at the Opportunity Private Health Clinic, where he was transported after an alleged emergency call by Mr. Lawrence from Helios Tower. Prior to the call, Mr. Alton reportedly had felt under the weather since that morning, but had no symptoms in the weeks or days beforehand. He was, however, outfitted with several Chiron brand augmentations, including an ECHO eye. Though he did not appear to come in contact with other individuals augmented with Chiron technology in those initial hours, it is unclear how long the disease had been dormant in his tech and if it might’ve been transferred to anyone susceptible. It also remains unknown where it may have been contracted, though sources put both Mr. Alton and Mr. Lawrence at the location of the last reported nanophage case in Sector A around a year ago._

Someone was calling Rhys. He could hear his name being spoken over and over, like a slow mantra designed to summon him. Yet he couldn’t open his eyes nor lift his weight up. He was a cumbersome mass without musculature. 

_“Ladies and Gentleman, the President and CEO of Hyperion, Mr. Jack Lawrence.”_

_“Thanks, bud.”_

A clearing of a throat, an adjustment of the mic. There was the occasional cough or grunt, but other than that, just Jack’s voice. Confident as it sounded, there was a waver there, if one knew him well enough. He droned on about Hyperion’s role in containing the nanophage plague by dethroning Chiron. There was addressment that Hyperion tech was not the entire solution to eradicating the disease and that the company would be attempting to put more effort into researching and discovering a cure. All the while, Jack sounded subdued and detached, not like himself at all; a sleepwalker going through the motions. When he opened the floor for questions, that’s when the roar began.

_—Sir, how long had Mr. Rhys Alton been under Hyperion employment?_

_—Is anyone else employed by Hyperion outfitted with Chiron cybernetics?_

_—If Mr. Alton has infected anyone else, does Hyperion plan to cover medical expenses and reimburse the person’s estate?_

The voices rose, clashing, jockeying for attention, each more shrill and rapid than the last. Jack was responding as quick and curtly as he could manage, but it wasn’t enough. They were like scavengers on a carcass, swooping down en mass. 

Until one managed to drown the rest out with its massive implication.

_—Mr. Lawrence, your relationship with Mr. Alton has been under scrutiny for some time, as you’ve been witnessed engaging in activities together outside business hours._

_“Nothing wrong with a few casual meetings, sweetheart. What, you think we don’t have contact outside the office? He’s my personal assistant, for chrissakes.”_

_—Surveillance reported physical contact as well as occasional visits to your estate in which Mr. Alton was not seen returning to his living quarters until late the following day._

_“Yeah, and your point would be? We’re all adults here. You can fill in the blanks. Next question.”_

_—Were you and Mr. Alton having an affair?_

Silence descended on the room, not even a whisper of sound escaping from the assembled press. All seemed poised to hear the answer, as curious as a herd of cats and just as deadly, should they decide to pounce.

_“Not so much an affair as a full blown relationship, but yeah, if you really gotta know. I don’t see how this has a frikkin’ thing to do with the case, so if we could get on with more important things, that’d be great.”_

_—How long were you having relationships with Mr. Alton prior to his diagnoses?_

_“Enough about that already!”_

Booming through the interior, drowning out the rising murmur of speculation, Jack’s voice was worn thin. He’d always been rather high-strung, but he was worse than normal, sounding devastated and desperate at the same time. 

_“The next question that gets directed at me better be about the nanophage, Hyperion, or Chiron or I’m throwing the lot of you out of the last story window of this building. Am I clear? Are all of you getting me?”_

No reply. For a few moments, it seemed as if Jack had diffused the situation. 

But then the rush came, almost like the crowd had risen from their seats and were storming the podium. Only it was their voices that were bombarding his space, overlapping and spiraling out of control, becoming more demanding.

_“This conference is over. No more questions!”_

Feedback from the mic, the electronic signal squealing but failing to drown out anyone, only adding to the cacophony. It sounded like a pack of snarling skags now, snapping and growling at each other in the throes of seeking dominance. Though Jack had stormed off, nobody else had left, the cameras lingering on the room without anywhere to focus. After some time, the feed cut, switching back to the studio before the anchorman there wrapped things up. The news report ended abruptly, leaving even the reporter sounding dazed and confused, the regular programming returning moments after. 

It was hard to tell how much later Rhys awakened, stretching from his place on the couch. A yawn seized him, small at first, but seeming to grow as he was roused further, his jaw feeling unhinged as it stretched with the effort. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, feeling how greasy it had become from the lack of washing.

“I need a shower,” he muttered, bleary eyes cracked open only slightly so that he couldn’t see who he was talking to. He was back at August’s apartment above the bar, and he could hear shuffling footsteps nearby. Finally, someone walked into his field of vision, painted fingernails splayed across shapely thighs wearing cargo pants.

“I think you need to explain to us once again just who you are,” Maya said, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

**XXX**

He was tired of waiting, August, boredom having set in some time ago. It was a secure location he had chosen, the resident long having succumbed to the nanophage. He’d been a recluse, but his state of the art equipment was ripe for free usage. Only thing was that it was rigged to his bio signature, unable to be swept away by greedy hands. So most individuals had built a makeshift haven here, hanging around the cramped living quarters like vermin. Thankfully, it had been mostly unoccupied at the hour August arrived, the nocturnal splicers and diseased ones crawling out of their hovel to gallivant beneath the night sky instead of barricade themselves indoors. The cover of darkness fueled this sector, made it as vibrant as the A division. Right now, the business at _The Purple Skag_ was likely booming, Gaige and Mordecai calling the shots from behind their posts at the bar. Mordecai tended to drink more of the stock than he poured, but August often looked the other way. He was loyal, and he could shoot down a target at impossible distances, and that was all August needed in an employee.

A cartridge from the newest Nakayama batch loaded, August sucked down the sweet smoke from his vaporizer, feeling it ripple down his throat. Holding it in his lungs even for a second burned like acidic flame. But he endured, blowing it out slowly. The effects were immediate, making him giddy, greedy. He wanted more of this nectar, and he gave in without a hitch, puffing away as the liquid in the cartridge drained quicker than usual.

When Vasquez found him lying prone along a threadbare couch, he sighed and shook his head. Goddam hustlers. Half of them didn’t know enough to never hit their own product if they wanted to make a profit. Also, it was bad for business. And these men were ultimately _in_ a business, shady as it was. There should have been some professionalism to their sleek and sleazy craft. 

Hugo tried rousing the man, shaking him, giving him gentle slaps on the cheek. Nothing. He supposed this was a better situation. There was a possibility of being manipulated by the prick and cajoled into performing certain unsavory tasks that Observers had resigned themselves to delve in. Unconscious, he could do nothing against Vasquez’s mindjacking. 

Chiron had called the tech the Dreameater, but Vasquez was fitted with the Hyperion equivalent. It wasn’t named specifically, but Observers referred to it as the alias The Psyche Void in passing. So many minds _were_ voids. No doubt August’s would be similar.

Neuro connector fitted to his pinkie, Vasquez activated his bio scanner, assessing August’s vitals. Sometimes the ports weren’t always obvious or denizens had blockers in place so they couldn’t be detected. But Hugo had always been honed in his craft, and he found the port after a thorough scan. Fingers nudging the skin at the base of August’s neck, a small slit parted beneath them, the circlet of alloy there obvious. Fitting the other end of the connector into the port, Vasquez lowered himself to the couch cushion, preparing for the merge.

No matter how many times he had done this in the past, he had never quite gotten used to it. The world of the human psyche was so disjointed, so jumbled and nonsensical. Familiar, everyday things became twisted symbols that barely made sense to an outside mind. The only way that Vasquez understood what sights he witnessed was from years of being exposed to such things.

Traversing the pathways of August’s mind was as messy and discombobulated as the man himself. The pixelated, jagged forms of individuals drifted in out of sight, deformed but recognizable as human, to some extent. There was a central figure among the squalor, reminiscent of a slug, bloated and dragging its bulk through the hallways of the man’s psyche as it loomed over everything. There was no point in interpreting what it was meant to represent. Vasquez was looking for specific information, and sifting through the junk was par for the course.

As he ventured deeper, the world of the other man’s psyche became oppressive, more claustrophobic. Things glitched in and out of focus, smoky figures wavering in existence. They became psychedelic, swirling with colors, twisting in form. Probably the effect of the drugs in his system. The addled brain was random and surreal, sometimes disturbing. Hugo watched as people melted around him to the tune of wailing air raid sirens. They were the noises of a time passed; outbreak sirens, when Chiron had been in power and the nanophage had become an epidemic. Most people who’d lived through those times tended to have suppressed memories of them. They were the Bogey man of the modern Opportunity era. 

Pushing even further, Vasquez knew that digging this far down was dangerous. He could lose himself in it if he lingered too long, ultimately scrambling his own brain, never to emerge to reality again. That was a risk all good Observers took. They went the distance to find the big score.

And score Vasquez did. There were recent memories here, recognizable because they functioned regardless of August’s state of mind. He parted the clutter, dug his digital hooks into any nugget of coherence and _pulled_ with his own mind. Nonsense gave way to snippets of a conversation, a young man, familiar and partially machine. When he spoke, it was in a voice Vasquez had heard before, though not often. The man tended to be on the sidelines when Vasquez had met him in the flesh, though he was an important part of Hyperion’s clockwork. He was often remembered because he was the only person Hyperion had ever hired that had Chiron cybernetics. It tended not to be a good look for the company if their employees sported tech from a rival. Or, in the present case, outdated tech. 

There was no mistaking it. This was Rhys, and August had engaged in recent contact with him. They’d been in some kind of laboratory, from the looks of the sinister and exaggerated equipment around them. Nothing modern. Vasquez thought it might be Chiron tech, but couldn’t be sure. Still, there were plenty of abandoned Chiron facilities in Sector C for such to be the case.

It was time to disconnect. He didn’t want to risk being sucked under. Time ticked away, counting down the moments until his mind would start to feel the pressure of being so far underneath consciousness and start to be torn asunder. He needed to come back to himself. Pulling away was never easy, but he’d been trained to seize control under duress, and he grabbed a hold of the cord to his physical self, wrenching his psyche out of the depths, being reeled back to the world faster and faster.

He jolted in his seat, taking a deep breath as reality trembled before him until it seemed to stabilize. Thoughts and recognition came back bit by bit, like streams of data being uploaded. His hand yanked his connector out of August’s port, and he sat there for a few seconds before realizing the world was glitching out before him. Out of practice, he was severely out of sync, his senses tangled up in his cybernetics and disorienting him. He popped a canister that had been sitting in his inner coat pocket, rolling up his sleeve so that he could insert the capsule he held directly into his wrist augmentation. The Syncrozene was a dire part of being an Observer. Without the drug, their minds couldn’t realign with reality, making them a fractured, schizophrenic mess. It was highly addictive. Vasquez loathed taking it, knowing that within a few hours he was going to need more regardless if he mindjacked anybody else or not. 

August was foaming at the mouth when he looked over, and it had nothing to do with the mindjack. The man was very close to falling into respiratory failure, if Vasquez’s scans were correct. He would have left August to his fate if he didn’t need him if things went wayward. Producing a minuscule needle from the a kit in his briefcase, he checked the date on it then drove it straight into August’s heart without much fanfare.

The man gasped, chest heaving as his eyes sprung open. They were bloodshot and glassy, but at least they appeared to be aware as they shifted around the room. He croaked a few times, voice cracking and breaking until he could find it. 

“What?” he managed to squawk, finally noticing Vasquez sitting on the other end of the couch. He couldn’t seem to get anything else out.

“Welcome back to land of the living,” Vasquez deadpanned. “Glad you could join me.”

**XXX**

“And that’s my story up until I got here,” Rhys was concluding, voice slow and exhausted.

With deep bags under his eyes, he was concentrating more on the area rug than on Maya. She sat beside him, looking unimpressed. Then she shook her head, one corner of her mouth twitching.

“So what you’re saying,” she reiterated, “is that you have direct ties to Jack Lawrence. And by direct ties, I mean you’re basically married to the guy, not just fucking him.”

“We’re not engaged. So I wouldn’t say almost married.” Rhys paused, trying to spool his thoughts. “But it’s serious enough.”

“Well.”

“Yeah.”

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. Either he had slept in a terrible position, or he was beginning to ache in places. He hoped it was the former. The presence of pain was never a good sign when it came to cases of the nanophage. 

“How are you feeling?” Maya asked as if reading his mind.

“I’m as alright as I can be in this situation.”

“You must miss Jack.”

“Oh, yeah. I try not to think about it. If I start dwelling, it gets pretty bad. I just don’t want to—I don’t want to get worse before I see him again.”

“I _might_ be able to help. I mean, usually August calls the shots cos he’s the big shit around here. But when it comes down to it, I’m capable of throwing down with the best of them.”

“How? I mean, I know what you are and all, and that’s pretty unique. But what can you do?”

“I’m not infected. Hell, don’t even have cybernetics. I can travel through the sectors without trouble. Don’t know how I’d get to Jack short of a slaughter. But maybe there’s a way I could get him a message. If he doesn’t ignore unsolicited contact.”

“I could teach you how to bypass that. Still, there’s no guarantee. He doesn’t really people, and he’s not the most approachable person. You’d probably need some kind of proof.”

“Allow me to ease both of your troubles,” came a smooth, measured voice. 

Both Rhys and Maya turned to see the bearded man entering the room, clad in a long dark jacket, briefcase in hand. August was behind him, sluggish and harrowed, looking more than a little out of touch. He didn’t speak right away. Not until the other man stopped and waited for him.

“Guys,” August was barely was able to get out. “This is—”

“Hugo Vasquez,” Rhys finished for him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ah, you know who I am. Good. Saves me the introduction. And I think you know exactly why I’m here.”

“I don’t? I mean, Jack could’ve sent you, but that doesn’t make much sense.”

“He’s an Observer,” Maya supplied. “Part of the cyberforce.”

“Ex, but yes. Having my augmentations removed would’ve been a bit of a permanent solution to a minor problem. So I still have my capabilities.”

“He jacked my head,” August muttered, flopping down on to the couch that was empty. 

“It was necessary. I knew you would lie and try to exhort me. So I took measures. My employer expects me to have quick results, not haggle with riffraff.”

There was no argument. In fact, August’s eyes were lidded, as if he weren’t entirely lucid. He probably wasn’t even paying attention.

“Did Jack hire you?” Rhys asked.

“That man was at his wit’s end. He really does care for you, doesn’t he?” 

There was something in Vasquez’s tone that sounded judgmental. It was just one example of why both Rhys and Jack had agreed to keep their relationship under wraps for so long. It didn’t reflect good on either of them, and probably even incited petty feelings. 

Vasquez dropped the topic thankfully and placed his briefcase on the coffee table, snapping the locks.

“Jack gave me this ECHO to pass along to you,” he told Rhys, holding out the device. “Apparently you can use it to communicate directly with him. It’s on a private, encrypted signal, undetectable by the cyberforce. So nothing will prevent it from going through.”

Cradling the ECHO in his hands as if it were something precious, Rhys was silent, struck dumb by what Vasquez was telling him. He could communicate with Jack again. Jack could get him out of this. He could _save_ him. In a sense. He couldn’t cure the nanophage, but if Rhys was to eventually succumb, at least it wouldn’t be without a goodbye. Morbid to think that, but he needed to take it into consideration. His mortality was the only certain thing hanging over his head at the moment.

“Is that it?” he asked Vasquez. 

“I’m not sure what else you’re expecting. To be frank, there’s nothing else Jack can do for you short of opposing the government, risking his corporation, and endangering Opportunity by exposing it to a nano outbreak.”

“I actually wouldn’t expect any less of him.”

There was a noncommittal noise from Vasquez. He picked up his briefcase and turned toward the door.

“What happens from here on is none of my business, so don’t make it so. I _am_ still loyal to the cyberforce.”

“I wouldn’t have thought otherwise.” This from Maya, who seemed particularly opposed to his presence.

Vasquez ignored her. “Goodbye, Rhys.” 

There was no reply from Rhys, who was still contemplating the object in his hands. He turned it over a few times, feeling a subdued sense of giddiness that just wouldn’t quite come to the surface. Feeling elated felt forbidden to him at the moment, untouchable. 

“Is there somewhere I can go for privacy?”

When August didn’t answer, Maya jabbed a thumb at a door off the main room. “In there. Auggie’s too out of it to notice.”

There was a sound that could’ve been a question from August. Neither of them paid it any mind.

“Thanks,” Rhys said and got up.


	5. Chapter 5

He’d needed to get away, escape the press of questions and the slithering scythids in the guise of local news reporters. Sector A’s Epicurean district wouldn’t be an adequate place to hide. Digging down deeper, scraping just outside Opportunity’s underbelly was his only option outside holing himself up at his estate, which would probably be crawling with reporters soon enough. His car ignored, he caught the bullet train, sitting in the ergonomic seat well past any stop in the sector. There was an announcement to transfer to the subway extensions at the next platform for Sector B travel, and he obeyed, boarding the rickety, outdated subway car. It wasn’t quite as bad as he’d been expecting. At least it didn’t smell like piss and alcohol. But the individuals scattered among the uncomfortable seats were noticeably different than the clientele on the previous train.

In truth, Jack had grown up in the B Sector with his grandmother, brilliant enough to escape his delinquent life there and attend a Sector A university, where he developed several of his own security protocols. Though he wasn’t the genius behind Hyperion’s bio tech, he’d played a part in developing how it could be integrated with human anatomy like Chiron’s augmentations. He never had finished his degree. The start-up company that had been birthed in the lab of a couple of tech geeks grew so rapidly he’d left to chase the possibility of profits. In the long run, he’d been smart. Or just lucky. Rhys had always told him it had probably taken a bit of both.

So here he was again, somewhere he hadn’t visited in over a decade. Once he’d departed for university, he’d had nothing to look back at. 

When he got off at a random B station, it was as if he’d never left this place all those years ago. Emerging from the underground platform to the street above, nothing had really changed. There was still the middle to low class vibe hanging over every building and shop, the holographic and electronic advertisements either not as abundant here or broken down. There were plenty of old pasted ads instead, the product of a bygone era. 

The bar he entered after walking for some time was dingy, claustrophobic. Nobody would know him here, and at this hour it was practically empty. There were plenty of empty stools at the scuffed wooden bartop. He took one, waving the bartender over. The man gave him a strange look and came to attend to him. Only when he opened his mouth, it wasn’t the greeting Jack had been expecting.

“I think you might’ve wandered into the wrong place,” he said. It was hard to tell if his tone was threatening or wry.

Jack shook his head. “Just get me a drink. Hardest you got.”

“Right. Coming up.”

After that initial serving, the bartender left him on his own, keeping his distance unless he was called over for a refill. The drinks kept coming, glass overflowing with dark liquid that tasted like sludge and went down just as rough, but did the trick. He was intoxicated soon enough, the warm, distorted world cradling him like a lover. His mind was so fuzzy he didn’t realize his ECHO was chiming. Not until the bartender pointed it out, sounding annoyed.

Hands fumbling, he realized that it wasn’t his main ECHO going off, but his burner. The disorientation lifted as if it was an overcast day being pierced by the sun. He snatched the device from his pocket and couldn’t tap the answer button fast enough. 

“Rhys? Rhysie?”

“Jack? Oh, thank hell.”

Voice thin and loud with elation, Jack noticed the bartender was looking at him through his peripheral vision as he waited on another customer. It occurred to him that this wasn’t the best location to have the conversation he needed to have and slid away, heading for the bathroom. Locking the door, he leaned against the back of it, exhaling loudly.

“It’s such a fucking relief to hear you alive, babe. I didn’t think—well, fuck what I thought. I’ve never been this goddam relieved.”

“You can thank Vasquez. I didn’t expect this thing he gave me to work.” Rhys attempted a curt laugh, but it came out strained. “I’m just glad to hear your voice again.”

“I’m gonna get you out of there. Those assholes. I’m gonna kill every last bastard that gets in my way if it—if it kills me.” The slur in Jack’s words became more apparent the more he became worked up, twisting his tongue into knots and making it hard to speak. “I don’t give a shit if you got nanophage. I’m gonna cure ya.”

“You sound drunk.”

“A little. You don’t know how it’s been. When they told me they transferred you to quarantine, I almost sent the head doctor through a top floor window.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Eying the sloppy bed before him, Rhys carefully chose an edge that looked clean and sat down. “It hasn’t been great for me, either. There’s this guy, he claims he’s helping me out. I don’t know. All he’s done is taken me to this weird doctor whose supposed to be running some tests.”

“Rhys, ya gotta be careful. You’re in The Stacks. Those people ain’t there to help ya.”

“I know. I guess. It’s just that they’re the only ones here who’ve helped me out so far. Well, maybe not helped. That guy? He’s been giving me, well, stuff that’s supposed to help. Definitely not street legal. I wouldn’t even call it safe.”

“Are you doing fucking _drugs_?”

“Ha, I guess I am, aren’t I? If it’s any consolation, it’s to keep me from getting any worse.”

The signal went so quiet it was as if Jack had disconnected. There wasn’t even the sound of breathing or the hum of electric to fill the dead air, just a soundless void as silent as space itself. Finally, Jack’s voice broke it.

“I’m coming to get ya, babe. Don’t touch any more drugs. Watch your back. Don’t trust these bastards. They’re no better than those bandits out in the wastes. You hang in there for just a bit longer.”

“That’s a pretty big risk, Jack. I mean, they’ll take everything from you if you get caught.”

“Then I won’t get caught. I won’t get fucking caught. Have some faith in me here.” 

Rhys closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing at his face with his flesh and blood hand. He was suddenly exhausted, a wariness that ran bone deep and wracked his very core. 

“I do. But come on. Can’t help being nervous about things right now.”

“We’ll save you, Rhysie. I mean it. We’ll beat the odds. Ya just gotta tell me where you are and I’ll find ya.”

The desperation was so thick in Jack’s voice that Rhys couldn’t bring himself to hesitate. He didn’t want to endanger everything the man had worked hard for in his life, but his mind wasn’t giving him much choice. 

“It’s a place called _The Purple Skag_ , run by a man named August. Don’t ask me exactly where it is, because I have no clue.”

“It’s enough to go on. Trust me, I got resources coming out of my ass. Ain’t nowhere I couldn’t get into in this city even if it _is_ in goddam Sector C.”

“Alright. I don’t think I could convince you otherwise if I tried at this point.

“Nope, ya really couldn’t.” 

“Just be careful. I saw the press conference. I know how volatile this situation is.”

“That bullshit? That was a _shit show_. They just wanted their gossip rag material. They didn’t care about the efforts I’m pouring into finding something that could counter the effects. They don’t give a shit that my company is the only corporation that’s actively made the disease nearly obsolete, or that we’ve pioneered immune tech. They just wanna know who I’m fucking so they can incriminate—”

“You shouldn’t let them get to you. It won’t reflect well. It’ll just make the tabloids hound you more.”

“You’re right, pumpkin, you’re right. I just need you back. That’s all I want. You back and cured and things returned to the way they were.”

“Me too. We just have to be patient.” Biting his lip, Rhys could feel a sting in his sinuses, the twinge of pain in his forehead. With the careful detainment of his emotions thus far, an overload was bound to break its bindings eventually. Restraint made his voice thick and wavering. “I love you, Jack.” 

“Love ya too, kiddo. We’re gonna get through this, you and me. Things’ll be back to the way they were soon. I promise.”

Those words rang hollow in Rhys’ ears. They said the rest of their goodbyes and disconnected, his shoulders hunching, head bowed as soon as the signal ended. He flopped over on to his side, uncaring how filthy the bed might be, and curled up into a fetal position. Not even the door creaking open stirred him sometime later, nor the voice that cut through the room.

“What’re you doing in my freakin’ bed?” August asked.

Rhys barely shifted, cracking open his ECHO eye and fixing it on the other man without seeing him. Garbled sounds came out of his mouth, but no words.

“Well, get up. The doc wants to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

**XXX**

It was easy, following August and Rhys when they eventually left _The Purple Skag_. They hadn’t bothered taking a convoluted path through the rotting jungle of Sector C’s business district, where the old Chiron warehouses sat like silent sentinels, their chimney stacks long since barren of greasy smoke. Nobody traversed these streets much anymore. Even the dealers and prostitutes had long since vacated, moving on to greener pastures. It was an eerie, silent place even in daylight.

Like any Observer worth their cybernetics, Vasquez kept a healthy distance from the pair, following the coordinates on his GPS. It was an implant built directly into his brain along with his other inhuman parts, and it kept a steady lock on the tracker Rhys didn’t know he had. Why he was being taken to an abandoned Chiron factory, Hugo didn’t know. But he did know he was going to find out. 

Obscured by shadows, keeping close to an alley wall, he scoped the building the two seemed to be heading towards. It was unassuming, nothing special. It also didn’t look like it boasted much security. An odd choice for someone who conducted their business down in this wasteland. He wasn’t going to question his luck, though. Both August and Rhys entered through a broken wall, none the wiser to his presence. It was time to strategize. Vasquez couldn’t just waltz in there guns blazing. For one, he didn’t know exactly what he’d be walking in on. He could bioscan the building all he wanted and it wouldn’t tell him how many people were within its walls. Secondly, he’d have to make Rhys’ death look as much of a product of the nanophage as possible if he didn’t want to face Jack’s wrath. Anything that could implement him in the crime was dangerous, because as soon as the CEO found out his boyfriend had been _murdered_ , it would be Hugo’s head on the chopping block. That wouldn’t even require him committing the crime himself.

It was with cautious footsteps that he approached the side entryway, gaze scanning the perimeter for any security devices or obstructions. Again, he was surprised to find none save for an old keypad next to a door built into the wall. It had a faint glow, meaning it was active. Its numerical pad alerted him to the fact he’d probably need a password. That was a joke. His implants made it easy to hack such a device, so much that he groaned in embarrassment for whomever had implemented the security. The door activated and he tried it, finding it opened with ease.

He’d go in without weapon drawn, posing as little threat as possible, see if he could eavesdrop before being noticed. August was a big fish, but he was puppeteered by the proverbial bigger fish, so it was hard to assess the situation. Vasquez could be walking into a building full of thugs, or he could be dealing with the barely mobile.

What he hadn’t expected was a fully functional scientific facility. The factory had been stripped of most everything that had made it such and been replaced with machines that Vasquez couldn’t even recognize, albeit of the older variety. There were rigs and computer terminals, some dusty and in state of disuse, others well cared for, by the looks of them. He ventured no further than the first main room, looking, listening. There were voices drifting from somewhere nearby. One distinctly human, the other something else; something slithering and gravelly and sounding like it could come from no throat of natural origin. He’d only heard voices like that a few times before, years ago now. It had been awhile since he’d encountered anything like it.

Staying glued in place, he strained to hear the conversation, the stream of it choppy to his ears, but somewhat discernible. He’d need to get closer if he wanted to make sense of anything. His tech only aided him so much. 

But could he risk it? His footsteps might not be overheard. Not right away. But there was still the fact he was putting himself right in the rakk hive’s mouth. 

Especially since that _thing_ was in there.

**XXX**

Time whittled on as Rhys followed August back to the nest of Chiron buildings. As it did, Rhys could feel his state deteriorating. What had begun as a slight nagging in his joints was bleeding into his bones, his muscles. He could feel it creeping up to his head as if there was a time bomb beneath the skin. As it worsened, he shivered even though it was far from cold, teeth chattering loud enough for August to notice.

“You ok there?” he asked without stopping.

“I’ll be alright,” Rhys answered, even using breath to speak an effort for him. “I may be having another fever flare. I can handle it.”

“Or you’re withdrawing.” The other man shook his head. “That stuff I gave you was pretty heavy. Much heavier than a noob like you could handle.” He made no mention of his own predicament, how Vasquez had found him. 

“Ok.” Rhys put his arms around himself, hunching his shoulders for warmth. “How do I deal with this, then?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Fair enough.” August rummaged in his pocket, holding out his vaporizer. “There ya go.”

Rhys regarded it as if it were a serpent coiled in preparation of snapping at him. “So I do _what_ exactly with that?”

“If you don’t know by now, then I can’t help you there.”

“I know what—I mean, _how_ is that going to help? I’m just taking _more_.”

A look from August which could only be interpreted one way: _you’re a completely clueless jackass._

“Oh,” Rhys said after a few moments. “Alright. Well. I’ll pass, then.”

“No, you really won’t. You’re not going to make it to Nakayama’s in the state you’re in. I’ll leave you here in the street before I carry you.”

“Gee, thanks. You’re a real great guy.”

August shrugged. “Choose your fate.”

“Fine.” 

Said through gritted teeth, the word came out more passive than Rhys wanted it to. He reached for the device but his hand only met air. August had pulled away at the last moment.

“Nuh uh. Your free days are over. If I give you this, you’re going to owe me. And if you don’t make good on that, then the nanophage won’t kill you, because I will.”

“I don’t know what the hell a sick and dying man can possibly do for you. But sure, whatever.” Shivering again, Rhys felt a wave of dizziness seize him and found himself leaning against a brick wall. “Goddam it.”

“Here,” August said and shoved the device into Rhys’ hand. 

Surprising himself, Rhys didn’t hesitate in using it, pulling the potent drug into his lungs like a man deprived of air. It didn’t happen instantly, but he could feel the fog in his mind clearing a bit, like data being swallowed up by a virus. Soon enough he was righting himself, the world around him taking on a surreal edge but still recognizable. 

“You good?”

Rhys nodded.

They made it to Nakayama’s without either of them saying another word to each other, Rhys feeling as if he were moving in slow motion while time continued normally around him. It made him feel trapped in his own skin, restless but ultimately as if he’d slipped into some nook in the universe that had been made just for him. Warm and contained, he lost track of time, only coming back to it when he realized they’d stepped into professor Nakayama’s lab, the man himself shifting towards him.

“Ah, the great deceiver has returned.” A hand latched on to Rhys’ face, fingers grabbing him by the chin, claws digging into his flesh. Nakayama’s face was inches from his, fanged teeth and fetid breath consuming his world. “Thought you could keep your secrets from us? Everything comes out here eventually. And I do mean everything. Including internal organs. Yours would probably be of great interest. But I digress.”

Too out of it to ask what Nakayama meant by his deception comment, Rhys tried to pull away instead. The professor hummed and let him go, Rhys’ feet almost slipping out from beneath him. 

“You couldn’t have just been a Sector A brat, couldn’t have you?” Nakayama was continuing, his hands wringing together. “I mean, it’s good. This is a good turn of events. But you certainly didn’t have the right to be where you were. How a liability like you even got there—absolutely mindblowing.”

Drugs in his system, bogging him down, Rhys struggled to follow the professor’s manic rambling. But he was still able to process the words, albeit slowly, and he was beginning to dislike what he was hearing. Having people doubt his abilities was something that had plagued him since the days he’d been outfitted with Chiron tech, maybe even having begun before that. It had been a long time. That was all that mattered.

“My greatest pupil. So brilliant, all that _potential_. He was going to fix it all for us. I knew that from the beginning. But my calculations were off. He succeeded before I could groom him into what he could’ve been. And then he left without even a goodbye. Not even an ECHOmail. We…we never saw each other again. Can you believe it? So ungrateful. So _frustrating_. So many years. And now here you fall right into my den all wounded and vulnerable. You couldn’t understand what perfection this is.”

“What the hell are you going on about, Nakayama?” Standing against a wall, maybe sensing Rhys’ frustration or getting impatient himself, August’s voice sounded exasperated.

“My prodigy.” The man smiled, rows of sharp teeth aligning perfectly to form one of the most disturbing grins Rhys had ever witnessed. “I can save this boy. I _will_ save this boy.”

Perhaps Rhys’ annoyance had reach its pinnacle because he felt pure, unadulterated thought break the surface of his confusion and twist his tongue into words.

“Great.” It came out curt. At this point, mellow as he was, he was also quite done with the professor. “Then let’s get on with it. And can you at least call me Rhys?”

“Oh, no. We can’t just fix you. That would require the limits of my ingenuity. And all genius comes with a price.” 

The simple gesture of the professor licking his lips was more unnerving than it should have been. Even with back hunched, he loomed over Rhys, a monolith of a genetic disaster. Rhys had never wanted to put distance between him and someone else so quickly before.

“However, it’s a price I think you could well afford, given your unique circumstances. How very lucky you are to be able to get me to offer my services. I mean, I _was_ doing it anyway. For my own gain, of course. But now that I’ve got the incentive, I can just dangle it over your head instead.”

A vulgar laugh escaped the professor, like broken glass and metal clashing together to the tune of insanity. 

“Cut it out,” August barked, still unmoved from his spot. 

Nakayama snorted and ignored him, addressing Rhys instead. “It’s simple, really. You deliver to me that handsome beau of yours and I don’t turn you into a walking biological weapon.” 

Brow furrowed, Rhys just shook his head. The professor had all but tied his addled brain in knots, and not even his sharp wits could undo the process. 

“You won’t _what_ if I do _what_?”

If the noise that came from Nakayama was human, then Rhys didn’t have a word for it. He couldn’t even place an emotion behind it, only knew that the professor was rolling his slitted eyes at him.

“It’s real easy,” he reiterated. “I won’t treat you like any of my _other_ nanophage patients given you provide me with the one, true savior of Opportunity: Jack Lawrence.”

It was Rhys’ turn to laugh. Dry and humorless, empty of any emotion, it went on on for so long August raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening to say something. But Rhys sobered just before that, shaking his head.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Rhys sighed, trying to think, but only running up against a solid mental barrier. “Jack, yeah, he’s a smart guy. But I fail to see why you’d want _him_ exactly. He’s no scientist. Not in the medical sense.” 

“No, no, no.” Each word was accented by a poke to Rhys’ chest with a claw. “You misunderstand me, boy. Rhys. Whatever your name was. I want him. _Him_.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“He’s mine. A product of my teachings. A professor has every right to see the potential his greatest creation has reached.”

“O-kay. Could you _maybe_ not talk about the person I’m currently in a serious relationship with as if you own them?” 

“Well, you could at least let me _study_ him.” The professor crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his bottom lip like a petulant child, which looked ridiculous on a man with his monstrous features. “How else will I ever immortalize him?”

“Whoa, I might be a little high, but that still sounds a whole new level of crazy.”

“You could never understand. The greatest project of my life, and I’m missing one component. You could give it to me.”

Without being aware, Rhys found himself backing up, fear weighing upon him like something tangible. The professor was whittling away at the stability he had left, and the only solution he could think of was to give in, meet the insane demands put upon him. It wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it was probably one of the most perilous decisions in life. But he found himself fumbling for the ECHO comm Vasquez had given him. 

“If I did,” Rhys said, gripping the device close to his chest, “what are you going to do to him?”

“I _told_ you. Do you want to see the focal point of this city reign forever? I can do that. For reals.”

His head turning to August, Rhys gave him a questioning look. The man just shrugged. There would be no help there. Rhys switched the ECHO on, still hesitant. Again, he questioned himself, wondered if the drug in his system had anything to do with his compliance. The signal sent on whatever frequency it was programmed to bypass sent the ECHO pulsing, the waiting almost agonizing. 

“Tell me you’re still in one piece, Rhysie,” came a voice on the other end at last. The words rolled in quick succession, almost clashing together.

“I’m fine. But, er, there’s going to be a change of plans. There’s a guy here who…. I can’t really explain. He’s going on about how you’re some kind of savior and about making you immortal. Personally, I think it sounds like a load of shit.”

There was a long pause. “Nakasuki.”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Nakayama.”

“That guy.” The way Jack said it was dry, bordering on disdainful.

“So he was serious, huh?”

“A little _too_ serious. What the hell does he want?”

“Uh, you, apparently.” Rhys’ voice turned wary. “He claims you’re the price for helping me out, whatever that means.”

“It means I’ll be there as soon as I can. You got a new location?”

“I’ve got the coordinates,” Nakayama butted in, having come in close to Rhys, bouncing on his feet. “You’d have to find a way to get in to the Sector on your own. I’m sure you’re resourceful, though, being the genius that you are.”

“I’m already on it. I’ll give you guys an ETA ASAP, ‘kay? And Rhys, babe?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Professor does anything you don’t like, anything at all, go on and murder the sonuvataint.”

**XXX**

He could walk away, save this for another time, or he could venture forward. Vasquez dangled on the precipice of a decision until at last he figured he’d be outgunned, so to speak. He was about to retreat, formulate another plan, when he heard something familiar. It was different from the other voices, definitely coming through some device. The voice was also distinct. He knew it well. Jack said he’d wanted to make contact with Rhys but Vasquez was hoping it wasn’t going to be that easy, even with his fancy tech. Probably shouldn’t have underestimated the CEO.

Getting closer with careful footsteps, he kept himself controlled, words becoming clearer. He had to be ready for anything. His pistol was in easy reach and he was a decent shot. But he couldn’t take out everyone by himself. If August was there, that was trouble. The kid was skilled with a firearm himself.

_A little too serious—_

_He claims you’re the price for helping—_

_You got a new location?_

Vasquez caught the words clearly, their implication raising his hackles. He should have known Jack wouldn’t keep his distance, compromise everything for his own desires. He was, after all, one of the men who had crushed Chiron beneath their heels. His capabilities boiled under the surface, few sensing them, fewer witnessing them. Not only that, but he’d been on the verge of a breakdown when they’d met, stretched thin and ready to snap or, worse, do something irrational. Which it sounded like he was about to do. Vasquez, as someone who knew where his loyalties laid, could not let things unfold any further. Not even the CEO of Hyperion had any right putting citizens at such high levels of risk. 

Breath even, senses sharp, Vasquez approached the open hatch of the next room. The lights were brighter here though the equipment was just as much out of date. It appeared to be some kind of testing facility with different types of apparatuses. But that’s not what drew Vasquez’s attention. The two figures, August and Rhys, were familiar, but not the third body; the _abomination_. It took him a second or two to understand what he was staring at. Some kind of DNA explosion that looked like it had endured heavy eridium exposure. Though Hugo had seen splicers before, he’d never seen one that looked so successful. Most were mangled, deformed and barely recognizable as neither human nor animal. They invoked pity and disdain most of the time. This thing, however— one look at this one, and it chilled the blood. It was permeated with a sense of danger, eerie in a way the human brain recognized on a primordial level. 

“Oh, look, another visitor,” it said, voice even more gruff now that it was clearer. “I haven’t had the pleasure of so much company in some time. An Observer too, I see. My, this is certainly lucky.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Vasquez? What the hell are you doing here?” This from August, who pulled away from the wall and stood up straight. “Don’t tell me you went narc.”

“Oh. Cyberforce. Of course.” Nakayama fixed his gaze on Hugo, narrowing his eyes. “Is he after my _Amanita Pandorica_?”

“Hugo works for Hyperion,” Rhys offered, able to sense the escalating tension in the air. Forming logical thought proved more difficult, though. “He probably needs to speak with me.”

“You never mentioned that before,” August scoffed. “Wait, does that mean _they_ hired you?”

“If you hadn’t overdosed before our meeting, making me having to _mindjack_ you, then maybe I would have explained.”

“Is that how you found me?” Rhys questioned. “You just invaded his mind?”

“How else would I have, Rhys? Finding one individual who was sent to the Stacks without any other trail to follow can be an impossible venture.”

“This is all well and good, but you haven’t provided an answer,” Nakayama hissed. “ _Why_ are you in my abode?”

“Let’s cut the shit out.” Hands on the lapels of his coat, Vasquez adjusted it. “I overheard your conversation with Jack, Rhys. He’s planning something. I want to know what that is. Because if it’s what I think, I’m going to have to step in and do my duty.”

“You don’t have any,” August said with a shake of his head. “You aren’t even who you said you were.”

“I’m ex-cyberforce, if you really have a burning need to know. Technically I’ve never once deceived you, as I can be reinstated under the right circumstances. And these are the right circumstances. Rhys will come with me and you two will likely not see me again.”

“You want to take _Rhys_?” Though Nakayama’s voice was rough, it suddenly went high and thin. “You can’t. Not now, while I require him. You’ll ruin _everything_.”

Attention on the professor, Vasquez remained as calm as he could manage. “I’d apologize but I hardly think I’m in the wrong here. Rhys, you know that Jack can’t be allowed into this sector. You know he’ll try to compromise your quarantine. Think of what the right thing to do would be.”

“No. You—you can’t!” Nakayama was all but shrieking, a growl emitting from deep in his throat. “I won’t allow it. Not in _my_ territory.”

“You’re just giving me a splitting headache, you crazy goddam splicer. Shut up or I’ll prematurely end your abysmal life.”

“I am _not_ crazy! They all called me that, told me all my research was preposterous, a laughing stock of the educational board. All of you, so _ignorant_. None of you know _anything_ about true science.”

“So be it.”

A flash of movement, arm reaching for his concealed holster with reflexes as quick as a siren’s, Vasquez removed a sleek looking .45 and aimed it right for the professor’s head. Finger twitching, he didn’t squeeze the trigger quite yet, the threat obvious. 

But Nakayama didn’t freeze in place nor recoil. Instead he bared his fangs and made a sound no human could ever make, his body rearing back, muscles in his legs bunching. Out of the corner of his eye, Vasquez saw August draw his own pistol, barrel directed at the Observer.

Rhys had backed up to the furthest corner of the room, wanting to avoid the fire fight that looked about to explode at all costs. ECHO eye activating, he tried calculating the trajectory, distance and speed of the stand-off and presented weaponry, many solutions proving themselves as outcomes.

It was impossible to sort. Perhaps he should have said something anyway. But It was too late. Before the thoughts forming in his head made it to his tongue, the sound of gunfire rang out, roaring through the air, sending sparks where a bullet struck one of the reinforced walls and ricocheted. Someone cried out, grunted like an animal. He saw Vasquez slamming against the floor, flat on his back, his gun going off as his finger slipped on the trigger. Rhys flinched and hissed as a burning sensation flashed across his flesh, the sound of yet another gunshot booming barely registering as pain consumed him. As he grasped at his arm, fingers slipping against something warm and wet, he watched August clutch his stomach and crumple to the ground.

That’s when Nakayama struck. He pounced on powerful hybrid legs, colliding with Vasquez, claws raking down with such force they tore through the Observer’s clothing without hindrance, blood spurting up as if from a geyser. The professor’s jaws snapped, Vasquez holding him back at the last minute so that his teeth only met open air. He fought and snarled, driven into a frenzy and making little progress as his mind seemed stuck in a loop, unable to pause long enough to rethink his strategy.

“Whose crazy now?” He was screeching. “Who, huh?”

Suddenly Vasquez’s gun was slipping flush to Nakayama’s forehead, the hammer drawing back.

Nakayama jerked away at the last moment, avoiding the gun before it went off, taking bits of Vasquez’s flesh with him. He was quick, moving with the alacrity of something made of pure muscle and lightweight bone, almost impossible to keep track of as he darted about the lab. Something as large as the professor had no right to be able to move with such inhuman speed. But he did so effortlessly, tail whipping out, trying to coil around one of Vasquez’s legs and trip him up. Hugo stumbled a few times but ultimately was able to break free, catching himself before he could go down. However, it cost him precious time. When he managed to regain his composure, Nakayama was standing before him again, and he kicked out, striking him directly in the solar plexus.

Bellowing with the pain of the impact, Vasquez flew back, hitting the wall and slipping down it to pool in a broken pile on the floor, hand managing to keep a firm grip on his gun despite the agony. A clawed foot came down on his crotch, asserting enough pressure to make him give a brief cry. Nakayama loomed over him, seeming to savor the moment, spittle that had gathered on his lips raining down to patter on Vasquez’s face. The splicer smiled, then, jagged teeth glistening. Vasquez looked up, eyes narrowing in defiance, Nakayama leaning in closer and closer still, jaws widening for the killing blow that would tear the Observer’s throat out.

Hugo gritted his teeth, leveled his gun directly at Nakayama’s temple again.

“Here’s that lobotomy they should have performed on you a long time ago, you ugly bastard,” he spat. 

When the splicer’s brains exploded from the back of his head in a lurid display, the blood and gray matter splattered everywhere, painting part of the room in viscera. Rhys wretched as the body flopped down on top of Vasquez, Hugo shoving it off of him instantly.

The man was bleeding profusely from deep furrows that had been carved into his chest, his breathing shallow. Gurgles erupted from him a few times and Rhys could make out droplets of blood seeping from his lips. Quickly he scanned him, reading down the scroll of his vitals, understanding that unless they had medical supplies available, the Observer wouldn’t make it much longer, lungs filling with blood. Rhys looked over at the other figure on the ground, August wounded but groaning and able to move. The blond coughed a few times, pushing himself up to a sitting position, dragging himself over near Rhys and leaning his back against the wall.

“Fucking asshole,” he cursed, voice strained and weak. “Let him rot.” August unclipped his ECHO from his belt and passed it to Rhys, all but shoving it into his hand. “Get Maya down here. Her signal number is in the contacts. She can fix us both up.”

Without hesitation, Rhys found himself responding, his mind shaken but his demeanor calm. Probably the drugs in his system still. He counted down the seconds until someone on the other end picked up, forgetting what he was doing for a second or two before launching into an explanation.

**XXX**

All the most high tech engineering on the planet, and still nothing could travel at the speed Jack craved. This should have been the hasty part of the plan, that one that went forward without anything for it to snag on. But such did not seem to be the case. The subway car churned and hummed, barreling as fast as it could muster, more speedier than a motor vehicle could have ever made it through Sector B. And yet it wasn’t fast enough. He kept waiting for the destination ticker to display the checkpoint station but it seemed to be alluding it, as if the subway was a ouroboros, forever chasing its tail without ever making progress.

Aggravated, practically shaking with agitation, Jack had neither the time nor patience to deal with the inadequacy of subdivisional public transport. Not only that, but if one more person who glanced his way stared at him, he was going to end up choking someone. Of course he couldn’t avoid being recognized in _any_ part of Opportunity, but did they really have to gawk? Sector A denizens had so much more class in that regard, celebrity sightings all too common there.

In response to his restlessness, it seemed, the subway car finally displayed the checkpoint as the next platform and an announcement came over the speaker system. A pleasant robotic voice explained the purpose of the checkpoint and who and what would be allowed through to a practically empty car. Hardly anybody ever ventured into Sector C without good reason. Not even the curious daring to traverse that part of the city. Jack glanced at an older man sitting in a battered seat across from where he stood. Fast asleep, he was graying and frail, his threadbare clothing baggy on his frame. Either homeless or just going back to his living space, he looked like the stereotypical C denizen, which just invoked more of Jack’s wariness.

The checkpoint station was quiet. The older man stirred when the subway stopped and followed a significant distance behind Jack’s hasty steps, diverging toward the denizen bypass. The CEO had to approach a different gate, the cyberforce individuals guarding it stony faced, as if they didn’t recognize him at all. They converged on him, the one that addressed him sounding bored as they asked for identification then directed him toward the bioscanner. Getting into Sector C was simple enough. Suspicious or not, most anyone could pass through into it. It was getting out that was gymnastics of both the mental and physical variety. Jack just kept his mouth shut for now and obeyed the officers. Declared free of any sinister agents or Chiron tech (well, duh, he wanted to snarl), he was allowed passage, though one of the officers did finally pipe up.

“You’ve been red flagged, Mr. Lawrence. We’ll be keeping tabs on your ECHO communications. If you make any attempts to perform acts that may be incriminating, you will be persecuted to the full extent of the law. If you attempt to resist, we have permission to use deadly force. If you exit Sector C under suspicion, we have the authority for search and seizure. Do you understand and agree to these terms?”

“Pretty cut and dry, pal. Since I don’t plan to wreck the joint, sure, whatever you need to do. I’ll gladly cooperate.”

With a harsh buzzing noise, he was cleared and the gate slid open. Boarding the elevator that would take him to ground level, he let out a deep breath when the doors slid closed, eyes falling shut as it made its ascent, fingers rubbing at his temples. Then he was springing into action, removing the chip Crazy Earl had sold him and slipping it into one of his ECHO’s ports. The device powered on, asking for bypass codes, which he punched in. It booted up, the reading on it letting him know he had successfully executed several protocols meant to infiltrate it. The cyberforce could no longer tap into his communications and any attempt to track him by GPS would be scrambled. Jack was an awesome coder, but he didn’t know C Sector protocol as well as whoever had programmed his chip did.

That done, he waited until the elevator chimed and the doors parted to access the coordinates he’d been given and synch it with the handy map the chip supplied. As he left the station and the world of Sector C revealed itself, he felt the oppressive air there almost as if it were tangible. The clouded sky seemed to press in close, obscure everything in smog and steam, the ramshackle buildings faint and ghostly beneath the thick layer. Ozone filled his nostrils, making him almost gag, and his head felt stuffed with cotton. Already Jack felt a tremendous amount of disdain for this place. 

And he hadn’t even explored it yet.

Fortunately the layout was straight forward, old Chiron warehouses taking up a large part of the sector’s livable quarters with the Stacks taking up most of the rest. Even without a map, he probably would’ve been able to navigate, though he would’ve liked a head’s up about the areas where he should watch his back. As he passed through the predominant Stacks quarters, he could feel the eyes on him, coming from shadowed corners or lingering pedestrians. All of them seemed to act like they’d seen an apparition of some sort, and in truth, he was probably a goddam legend to these people. If anybody knew about his humble origins and what he had done for Opportunity, it was C denizens. Trying not to acknowledge anyone, wishing he’d brought a bodyguard with him (though that would’ve ultimately hindered him), he was relieved when the living complexes gave way to larger buildings and plots of land. This seemed like the warehouse district and he could see his destination wasn’t far. 

The ECHO told him he’d been walking just about two hours. Feet aching, head throbbing, he felt cautious numbness giving way to a rising elation; a giddiness, if he allowed himself to assess it entirely. Finally, he was going to be with Rhys again. He was going to see the one person that mattered in his life, the one that made his success and his ambitions worth it. Shit, that was both sappy _and_ corny, way too out of his comfort zone. But he couldn’t help it. The man just turned his brain to malleable pablum, did things to him nobody had or could do. And he wasn’t getting any younger. Settling down with someone was becoming more and more of a desire.

Thoughts stopped dead, his mood almost plummeted full force into some dark, craggy abyss. No, he’d probably never settle down. Not now, when the only one he wanted to do so with was counting down their days. It only made him more determined to save Rhys, at all costs, even if he had to bankrupt himself to do so.

Footsteps quickening, the ECHO chimed as he came upon the factory that was his destination. Looking it over for an entrance, he saw it had been barricaded, the mess welded together, looking like little more than rubble. It couldn’t possibly be moved. Cursing under his breath, he eyed the structure further, craning his neck to look up toward the roof. There were no windows nor was there anything to climb. But that didn’t mean he was shit out of luck. Coming around the side of the building, he didn’t spot the metal door there. Not right away. It took him almost passing it for him to notice it, the color painted the same shade as the building, albeit chipped and pitted with rust. There was a security keypad beside it that looked like someone had already hacked it, as it simply glowed a steady green. Trying the door, he found it opened with ease and he slipped inside, boots clomping on the cement flooring. Nothing stood out to him immediately, just a lot of equipment frozen in silent disuse. He almost thought he had the wrong goddam place, it was so eerily quiet.

“Rhys?” he finally called out, voice even in tone in case he’d walked into a trap. “Rhys, where the hell are ya?”

Venturing further, he strained to hear a reply. But nothing came. Things were becoming unnerving and he had to suppress a chill. Fuck, he hoped he wasn’t too late and something hadn’t gone down.

Suddenly he heard the shift of movement behind him. Just a whisper of noise but it was enough to have him spinning on his heel. What he saw before him made his eyes widen. Ethereally glamorous, hair a vibrant blue, the woman standing there put her hands on her waist, directing his attention to the blue tattoo swirling down her arm and poking out where a bit of her hip was showing. 

“Didn’t think I’d ever come face to face with Jack Lawrence,” the woman said in a wry voice. “But here I am. You’re handsomer than on the holos. Rhys is a lucky man.”

Barely hearing her, Jack was still staring at the tattoos, fascinated by their twisting, twining paths. “You’re a freakin’ siren.”

“What, never seen one in the flesh before?” Her voice was teasing, definitely amused. “Call me Maya. Now, you going to help me out or not?”

**XXX**

“You goddam. Piece of shit. No good sonuvataint,” Jack was seething at the man prone on the berth, fists clenched at his sides, teeth bared like an animal. “If you weren’t in the state you’re in, I’d kick your ass from here to Promethea.”

“He—he was planning….” There was a gurgle from Vasquez’s throat and he coughed. “Something.”

From his place beside Jack, Rhys frowned, rubbing at his wounded arm before wincing, having forgotten it hadn’t quite healed yet. Even with siren powers having repaired most of the damage, it still stung. 

“You’re going to mindjack that bastard’s brain, whatever’s left of it. So you better not even _think_ of dying yet.” Jack stomped over to the splattered gore that was plastered over the floors and wall, gaze smoldering as he surveyed the destruction. Most of Nakayama’s body had remained intact, lying twisted and rigid with rigor mortis, his expression forever frozen in madness. It had been clean, Vasquez’s shot, precise. Without so much as a flinch, Jack crouched and poked at the hole in the man’s head, the last of the blood that hadn’t dried smearing his finger. “Someone get me something to crack this crazy nightmare’s noggin with.”

It was Maya who handed Jack the large pair of forceps with the scooped tip and jagged edges. He looked at it as if she’d just handed him an alien artifact, then went to work, driving it straight into the professor’s forehead.

“I don’t think that’s how those work,” Maya commented, watching with a composure that had to be conditioned. 

A grunt came from the CEO and he flashed her an unamused look. Nothing could stop Jack when he was like this. Not even Rhys. His intensity was something that crackled on the air, rivaling any electrical current, his obsessive concentration a bullet train moving so quickly it was veering off its track. Adjusting his grip and reassessing his method, Jack tried a different approach, noting the bone came away easier when he did. It split with neat precision, more viscera painting his hands as he worked. At last he was satisfied with the gap he had made, asking for a pair of surgical gloves from off a counter, snapping them on, plunging his fingers between the bone as if he was a genuine surgeon. The mass of tissue that he wrenched out was greyish and tinged with pink, riddled with veins.

Rhys thought he was going to almost wretch for the second time in a very short period, stomach roiling. “Jack,” He began, realizing he was at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry, babe,” the other man replied, standing up. “It’s the only way. Can you do me a favor and scan for any equipment that might be calibrated for a neural transmission?”

“I’ll try.” Keeping the nausea at bay, Rhys used the circuitry in his eye to sweep the room, falling on a small device that seemed to be ideal for neural connections. Wires trailed from it like guts that had been wrenched from its insides. By intuition, Rhys understood this was the machine Jack needed and gestured. He looked away as soon as he could, swallowing hard. “Over there.”

Jack plopped the bit of brain down in a tray, shoving the pointed end of the wiring into the gelatinous matter, plugging the other ends into the machine. He flipped the switch, watching as a holo readout he couldn’t quite understand came to life. 

“You know this shit better than I do,” he said to Vasquez. “What do I do now?”

The Observer’s voice was nothing but a hoarse rasp, his words far from an answer. “You-you’ll kill me like this. I can’t-can’t handle it. My mind….”

“You chose your own fate, pal. You shoulda just stayed out of shit and done what I paid you for.”

“Everything.” A gasp, blood bubbling up to spill over Vasquez’s chin. “Would be…compromised.”

“Shut it.” Vasquez’s hand was grabbed, Jack treating him like a rag doll, his golden pinkie inspected. “This what I use?”

Vasquez gurgled, refusing to confirm if it was. But Jack knew a thing or two about Observer’s tech, especially if it was Hyperion brand, and manipulated the mechanism that revealed the port within. He grabbed a connector from where Rhys pointed out a stash and wasted no time plugging Vasquez into the machine. The holo readout changed, asking him if he was prepared to initiate neural pathway connection.

“You ready there, Hugo?” Jack asked. 

He didn’t wait for an answer before hitting enter. The man spasmed, making a pained sound, eyes squeezing shut so tight the wrinkles around his eyes became predominant.

Going under into the Psyche Void of a dead brain was easier than a living one. Even unconscious, the mind was active, spewing memories but also twining them with real time thoughts and concepts. It was sometimes hard to differentiate, the inconsequential clashing with the relevant. A dead brain, however, was bereft of continuous sensory input and imagery. It was quiet and thoughtless, its corridors able to be explored without disruption save for the horrors that already lurked there. Which could be daunting unto themselves, obscured as they were, but at least weren’t subject to clutter.

But performing such an act wounded was stress on the body that tended to seep into the mind. Going too deep into the Void was always dangerous, of course, insanity bleeding into every corner, ready to drag an Observer into its chaotic embrace. A vulnerable body made the mind more susceptible, able to absorb more of the erraticness of the human brain. An overworked or heart under duress could simply stop for no other reason than the hindered brain being scrambled by the influence.

The Observer fought delving too deeply into what lay in the remainder of Nakayama’s brain, but it was difficult. The man had been a tangled mess, hardly coherent in thought and emotion. Just grazing the surface would do nothing. He had to dig down, grasp at what was buried there, crack it like a cipher. Thankfully it wasn’t much of a puzzle. Vasquez found himself witnessing flashes of experiments, a single human specimen, the progression of their health as it declined. He found notes on the matter scattered everywhere he ventured, walls, windows, floors and he put them together, gluing it together with the guidance of the lines that connected one fact to the next.

Rhys was also buried in there somewhere, his presence less straightforward but becoming clearer as Vasquez clawed away at the veil. Information on the man had been filed away, digitally stacked and rearranged, manipulated as the professor toiled at the results of the studies the man had been subjected to. Vasquez began to understand, especially when what he was able to access and read became clearer.

Madness. 

It was all utter madness. 

Yet he could see where the Professor wasn’t exactly insane, those cracks of rationality driving the stability of his work. It would have all crashed and burned otherwise. In the end, it more or less had. Nakayama’s obsessions, his manic drive had been his ultimate demise, after all. 

Vasquez was slipping down too far, getting deep under the layers of nonsense that lay beyond the pockets of coherency. He needed to surface. The feeling of creeping insanity was bleeding too much into his own thoughts. Yet he had no strength to pull himself out, his reserves nearly at zero in his state. Either getting trapped in the Professor’s mental labyrinth or bleeding out without treatment—that was how he was going to die. 

Things began to fade around him, drifting away like momentary dreams. This was the end. He was sinking into depths he could never be pulled from.

Something _wrenched_ in his mind. It would have been agonizing if he hadn’t been so numb by then. Like some squirming, panicked thing, he fought against the sensation, but it reeled him in more and more. And suddenly he could feel his lungs burning in his chest, the cold seizing the blood in his veins; the blood that was currently leaking out of him to the tune of a death march.

“Welcome back,” a familiar voice said and his eyes focused enough for him to realize he was looking up at Jack. His mouth moved but no sound came out, the other man’s gaze intense. “I want to know everything you learned. Now.”

The Observer found his voice at last. “I….” Blood gurgled in his throat, swallowing his words. “No.”

“No?” A sigh from Jack. He pulled away, hands going to his hips, head shaking. “Look, Vasquez. I’m a merciful kinda guy. Even though you betrayed me, I’m gonna show mercy. But I expect at least cooperation in return, got it?” When the man just wheezed and coughed, Jack grunted. “Maya, would you mind patching him up. He’s no good to us if he dies.” 

“I’m not giving him a full heal,” Maya shot back with a raised eyebrow. “If that’s what you want.”

“Nah, just, ya know. Make him not about to die and stuff.” 

With a shake of her head, Maya approached the prone Observer, eying him as if he were a piece of meat she was about to tenderize. Jack didn’t bother watching the process, approaching Rhys instead. 

“You ok, pumpkin?”

Having been looking quite intensely at a corner of the room, Rhys turned to Jack, eyes remaining downcast. “I’m just not feeling too good.”

“Course. We’ll get you out of here as soon as I get that info.”

“I need air. I can’t stay in here.” Rhys was beginning to shake. “Please. Just get me away from this room.”

Looking over to Maya, who was radiating a warm energy over Vasquez, then to August, who’d been quiet for the entire duration Jack had been there, probably resting after being healed, Jack finally set his gaze back on Rhys. 

“I need whatever the Professor was working on. To save _you_.”

Shifting in place, Rhys seemed unsure of himself. When he finally looked up, his eyes were rimmed in red, as if he’d been weeping. Which wasn’t the case. His eyes were dry and clear, for the most part. Leaning in, he rested most of his weight on Jack, not saying anything, not needing to.

“Alright, kitten, ya breaking my heart. Let’s see what I can do.” To Maya, he directed, “You wanna do another favor for me?”

The siren looked up from her work. “My sense of charity only goes so far.”

“You know I’m good to give you whatever you want in exchange.”

“But will you keep your word, that’s the question. I know how you corporate Sector A types can be.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m Jack Lawrence, sweetheart, and you’re a siren. I think any deals we make are gonna be signed, sealed and delivered.”

She seemed to consider it, her hands slipping away from Vasquez, her lean form straightening up. “You have a point. Kind of a good one, I guess.” 

“Right? So, here’s how it is. I need to get Rhysie out of here before he has like a massive breakdown. But I need whatever info Vasquez might’ve dug up on the dear, dead professor. You think you can pull off getting that for me?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Maya looked down at Vasquez, who coughed a few times and began to sit upright. She shot him a death glare, which made him pale further than he already was from blood loss. “What do you want me to do with him after?”

“Whatever you want.” Giving it a second thought, he added, “Maybe don’t kill ‘im, though. Seems a wasted effort.”

“You’re no fun.”

“What? I’m loads of fun. You don’t know me at _all_.” 

Burying his face into the man’s shoulder, Rhys groaned. Whether it be from frustration of still being stuck in the claustrophobic room or Jack’s cornball banter was uncertain. 

As if sensitive to his plight, Maya gestured to him. “You better hurry up getting him away from here. Seems he can’t take much more.” 

It was cryptic but effective. Jack nodded, prying Rhys gently away from himself and winding his arm around the back of the other man’s shoulders, supporting most of his weight. He shuffled him to the hatchway, looking over his shoulder as it irised open. 

“Don’t go overexerting yourself,” Jack said by way of departing words. 

“I can handle myself,” Maya replied. “Now get on with the rescue mission. Me and August will reconvene with you back at _The Purple Skag_ when I’m done here. Rhys knows where it is.”


	7. Chapter 7

Holiday lights tacked on the wall glimmered in the dark of August’s bedroom, giving it a subdued, calming atmosphere. Laying in the bed beneath them, Rhys kicked the sheet wrapped around him off and to the floor. Fat dollops of sweat peppered his brow, his muscles trembling as they radiated heat. Deep in the pit of his stomach, tension hummed, threatening to grow into nausea. Tossing on the mattress, he whimpered to signify his discomfort, though there was nobody around to hear him. It was more to calm himself down, the grip on his sanity at the moment slippery at best. At any point it could falter and send him tumbling into the abyss. 

Outside the closed bedroom door, Rhys could hear voices. They overlapped one another, jumbled together. Nobody had been in the apartment prior to his and Jack’s return, save for Tector, who had let them in. Somebody must have shown up. Jack’s voice was definitely among them, sounding irregular, shaved down to a wavering thinness. If Jack had ever sounded like that before, Rhys had never heard it. Though it gave him something to focus on, ponder even, it also filled him with harsh and concentrated dread. Simultaneously, he both desired it and wanted to drown it out.

The bedroom door creaked open, footsteps shuffling along the floor. Something clinked against the surface of the nightstand and Rhys found himself looking up at a broad figure looming over him. Jack pulled his hand away from the glass of water he’d set down and, without missing a beat, lowered himself until he was sitting on the bed. He reached out for Rhys, tugging him over to his lap, situating him there with gentle manipulation. There was no protest from Rhys, who shifted until his gaze met Jack’s, the other man’s eyes dilated so wide they were mostly pupil, only a thin circle of iris remaining in each. It made his eyes ominous, like black pits that lead to nothingness.

Mistaking Rhys’ shudder for a sign of his illness getting the better of him, Jack took up the water and attempted to get him to drink. More than a mouthful had Rhys sputtering. Fire seared his lungs as he was wracked with coughs.

“I had to threaten his life, but I got August to cooperate,” Jack piped up, albeit in a hushed tone. It was almost as if he thought speaking at a higher volume would exacerbate Rhys’ condition. “His guys are whipping you up something. Shouldn’t be long.” 

_Something for what_ , Rhys wanted to ask, but couldn’t muster the strength for that many words. Instead he pressed into Jack’s shirt, the soft material brushing his cheek. Fingers tangled in his hair, sweeping it back with soothing motions. 

“I’m not gonna give up on you yet,” Jack said after some time. “I know you can hang in there till we figure this out. Just give it a bit longer. Come on, Rhysie.”

Rhys had no idea which Jack was referring to— his current state, or his health overall. The words, in their vagueness, just served to confuse him in his compromised headspace. But Jack said no more, and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled Rhys enough that his discomfort receded. Not quite drifting off, he managed to dangle on the precipice enough to feel relaxed when the bedroom door parted from the frame once again. The person crossed the room, handing something to Jack. A pale stretch of arm filled Rhys’ vision, covered in a swirling and careening blue tattoo.

“August wants you both out once you’re done with that,” came Maya’s voice, subdued and matter-of-fact. “He’s not too happy about your hired goon offing his supplier.”

“I ain’t too happy about that asshole turning on us, neither,” Jack snapped, his voice thick with animosity. “Never trust an Observer. Even an ex-one.” He paused, letting out a harsh breath. “I don’t plan to stick around none now that I got what I came for. I have my boyfriend to save and a company to run.”

Maya cocked an eyebrow. “You went through the trouble of sparing the Observer’s life and you’re not even going to pursue what he dug up?”

“Ah, right, yeah, that. Probably didn’t turn out to be all that important, did it?”

“Maybe you should decide that for yourself once I tell you. Take care of Rhys first. Then we’ll talk.”

As quickly as she’d come, she was gone. Only a portion of what she had said had been absorbed by Rhys, the rest of the conversation scrambling in his head, which was throbbing. Every time he tried holding on to a thought, it wavered, so he gave up, focusing instead on Jack’s actions. He tried to decipher what the other man was doing, but couldn’t make sense of it. Not until Jack was grabbing his flesh and blood arm, pressing something sharp to the crook of his elbow. 

“It’s really killing me, sticking this shit in your veins,” Jack murmured. “But I can’t have you withdrawing if we’re gonna get out of here with our hides intact.”

There wasn’t any pain, but Rhys could feel whatever substance Jack was injecting him with invading his bloodstream. It eradicated the heat and the pain wherever it spread, paving his internals with numbness, clearing his head. Within minutes he was feeling more like himself again and he shifted until he was sitting upright in Jack’s lap, his chin propped on the other man’s shoulder.

“This is shit,” Rhys said in barely a whisper, then sighed and spoke louder. “This is absolutely shit.”

Strong arms encircled him, Jack’s wide palms stroking his back. “I know, babe.”

“I’m dying, Jack. And it’s slow and—and painful. And the only way of coping is becoming strung-out. What kind of life do I even have anymore? Even if I come back with you?”

“Hey, listen to me.” Jack’s fingers found Rhys’ chin. Taking it up in a firm grip, he tilted the younger man’s head back, leaning in until their faces were inches apart. “I’m not going to let you die. The only way you’re shuffling off this mortal coil is from natural causes when we’re both old and decrepit and getting matching hip replacements.”

“We don’t even know if I have that much time left.”

“You’re tearin’ my heart out talking that way, Rhys.” The strain in Jack’s voice was evident, his words clipped. His throat work as he swallowed; an audible sound against the backdrop of silence that had fallen.

“Funny, thought you claimed yours shriveled up and died awhile back.”

It was clear Rhys was attempting to lighten the mood, even though his gaze wouldn’t meet Jack’s. Obviously amused, Jack snorted, his lips twitching as if a grin was attempting to form.

“Nothing deters the snide remarks, eh?”

Rhys answered him by closing the distance between them, his lips meeting Jack’s with the faintest of brushes. Hesitant as it was, the patina of shyness soon chipped away, revealing unbridled need. The warm, dry skin of Rhys’ lips mashed against Jack’s mouth, demanding returned attention, parting for it. An arm wound around Rhys’ neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Faint traces of caffeine and tobacco ignited against his tongue, and he wondered vaguely if the stress had made Jack take up smoking again. Troublesome habit, but he wasn’t going to fault the man for it now. Not when he was flooding Rhys’ senses with the familiarity he yearned for to gain some semblance of stability in his current life.

When they parted, Rhys was less agitated, although far from consoled. One last peck was placed on Jack’s lips before he worked his way out of the other man’s grasp, though it turned out to be no easy accomplishment. Jack was intent on clinging to him as if fearing that letting go would shatter some delicate illusion.

“We probably shouldn’t push our luck by hanging out here, especially not in August’s bed,” Rhys pointed out. “I caught what Maya said to you.”

“Right,” Jack said, voice a deadpan, his withdrawal from the situation evident. “I should likely pay attention to what she has to tell me.”

A nod, Rhys using his robotic arm to pry Jack’s fingers from him. He found his clothes folded in a neat pile at the foot of the bed, having been stripped to his underwear to cool down, and made haste putting them back on. A strong arm came around him for support, and he leaned into it, allowing Jack to guide him out of the bedroom.

Almost immediately they were confronted by a half-naked, wiry blond figure. Eyes ringed with dark smudges, bandages criss-crossing his torso, August looked like a wild beast of a man. The words that poured from his snarling mouth were tinged in violence just waiting to be unleashed.

“I seriously hope you’re in the process of removing yourselves from my premises,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Jack answered him without raising his voice. There was a stony expression on his face, one Rhys had seen him take on when trying to pin down a business deal. “As soon as we talk to Maya, we’re gone.”

“No. You’re gone _now_. Unless you want me to remove you by force. And by force, I mean leave you a broken, bleeding smear on the pavement. Not you, Rhys. Just Mr. High and Mighty CEO here.”

“You got a problem with me, tough guy?”

“As a matter of fact, I kind of do. You might be king in the A Sector but here, nobody gives two shits about you. We may as not even be living in Opportunity, for all the good you’ve done. Chiron’s big downfall? Hyperion’s rise? Didn’t even make waves. We still got barely a right to our name, the ‘phage is still rampant. We’re not living, just surviving. Throw our dead in mass graves and get on with life. While you twisted assholes gorge yourselves and ship your diseased off to our turf. To you, we’re just parasites that unfortunately latched on to the underside of your promised land and got in the way.”

As August continued his spiel, Rhys grew more and more agitated, his gaze divided between the blond and Jack, taking note of the minute shifts in his boyfriend’s stance as the words got more accusatory. Barely able to control himself, Jack looked ready to reach out and wring his hands around August’s neck, would do just that if Rhys didn’t intervene soon. It took a few nudges, but eventually Jack turned his attention to him.

“As much as I hate to say it, Jack, he’s not entirely wrong.” As heterochromatic eyes narrowed at Rhys, he quickly added, “I mean, not that it’s your fault or anything, but when was the last time you remember this sector being treated anything less than a badland, or when it was even a healthy place to live? You of all people should know—”

“You’re goddam right it’s not my fault,” Jack said in a rush, cutting him off. “That anyone thinks I have anything to do with, or have any sway over the ruling government is just freakin’ all sorts of preposterous. I know I might be pretty close, but I haven’t ascended to god-like being yet, last I checked.” 

There seemed to be no willingness to backdown from August, who scoffed. “Yet you can throw money at a cure for the ‘phage whenever you feel like. You wouldn’t even be in this position if not for Rhys. You’re just as much a symptom as the rest of those fucks, so don’t try playing this off like you’re innocent. The reason people like me are barely scraping by is because of people like you.”

“You seriously got the balls to to try and pin your illicit bullshit on my blood, sweat, and tears?” Jack broke away from Rhys, then, a stiffness to each of his movements that was telltale of how furious he was growing. If this escalated any further, it could come to blows. Trying to lure him back from the precipice, Rhys was promptly shushed. “This entire city would have fallen if not for me and my company. The nanophage would’ve spread like a fine pate on a stale cracker until it was no longer containable. I saved this entire fucking _planet_ from Chiron’s clusterfuck.”

“Sure, if that’s what you’re delusional enough to believe. But you ended up killing my livelihood anyway. So, I got one thing to ask you, Lawrence. You going to make this right or what? And don’t give me your slick corporate bullshit. I can see right through it.”

“Alright,” Maya finally said, stepping in-between them before Jack could close the distance. She shook her head, rubbing at her temples. “So the Professor got himself offed. Jack had no way of knowing that would happen. In fact, I’d say it was Nakayama’s fault.”

“Are you seriously taking his side?”

“Someone was going to do it to him sooner or later. That kind of crazy? It’s just self-destructive. I told you I’d handle this anyway, August.”

“Fine,” August said, throwing up his hands. After a moment, he turned away, smart enough to know when he was out of his league. “Just get him out of my sight. I don’t need him raising my hackles any further while I’m trying to do damage control.”

That seemed to be the end of it, though it took mildly longer for Jack to calm down. When he finally did, they were already outside, a chemical smell permeating the sunless morning. The CEO had stopped on a bench outside the bar to light a cigarette. Face angled slightly toward the drizzle spitting down on them from the heavens, his attention was on a holographic ad in the distance depicting a looping commercial for off-planet travel. Like anyone in that particular sector could afford a vacation with those kind of expenses.

“It always seems like it’s raining here,” Rhys remarked, leaning up against his side.

“Yeah, must be all the chemical burnoff.” Taking a drag from his cigarette, Jack hummed, Rhys not pointing out that it was hardly an explanation. “I didn’t mean to act like that. Inside, to you, I mean. So, well, sorry. He was just getting all sorts of under my skin. I tell ya, you bust your ass to try to do a bit of good on this planet, and this is how people react to it. Dick.”

Jack wasn’t prone to apologies so directly. It was something Rhys had grown accustomed to and found more character flaw than any real problematic habit in their relationship. The fact that Jack was doing it now made Rhys feel fragile, vulnerable. 

“I can take more of your bullshit than that,” he said. “I’m not about to break apart just because I’m sick. And to be fair, I don’t think August was being a dick just to piss you off. People’s lives seem pretty bad here.”

“Anybody can pull themselves out of the gutter if they really want to, Rhysie. There ain’t no such thing as fate. You pave your own way in life. Just like I did. A lot of people can learn from what I’ve accomplished in this city.”

Hesitation to respond persisted too long in Rhys, his ideals and emotions clashing like giant entities at war. His own posh upbringing in Sector A, the trials and tribulations of being anything less than privileged as told to him by Jack regaling him of his past, the truth staring him in the face. All of it battering him en masse, curling deep in his gut into one entity. Wanting nothing more than to purge it, he never got the chance. Maya stepped out of the Skag, then, approaching them, a long, hooded coat draped on her frame. The hood had been pulled up over he head, making her look like some kind of warrior monk.

“You guys ready to bust through the checkpoint and cause some chaos with me?” she asked them.

Tossing his cigarette to the ground, Jack stamped it out with the toe of his sneaker and stood up. 

“So, you’re coming with us?” he asked, Rhys taking a significantly longer time to get up and join them. 

“Something tells me you didn’t put as much thought into getting out of here as getting in,” Maya quipped. “I can get us through the checkpoint. Beyond that, I’ve got a business proposition for you. But we’re going to have to negotiate some things.”

“Fine with me, sweetheart,” Jack said.

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want, sure. Rhys?”

“She’s helped us a ton so far. I don’t see any reason we should be unwilling to hear her out.” 

“Great, we’re all sorted here.” Shooting finger guns in Maya’s direction, Jack’s actions made Rhys cringe. “Let’s pound pavement.”

In the light, Sector C seemed to wear an entirely new skin. The Stacks sill loomed in the distance, but now, bathed in gray, they looked melancholy and run-down instead of ominous. People they passed were more akin to ghosts than anything dangerous; pale, thin beings outfitted with artificial limbs and other obvious tech. Many wore bandages, probably in the wound stages of the nanophage. They passed a large building that took up a city block, a holoticker displaying garbled words scrolling atop its enormous doors. It might’ve been a government facility at one point, but now its entrance looked locked permanently, gaggles of people loitering across its abundant spread of steps as if preparing for a rally. Rhys doubted very much that these people would attempt a rally for any cause. They looked broken down and unable to muster the strength to fight for _any_ cause. 

If anyone particularly noticed the CEO of Hyperion was walking among them, they were discreet about paying it heed, appearing lost in their own world.

Eventually they came within sight of the checkpoint they’d have to pass to venture into the higher sectors. Maya stopped them, telling them to hold their positions. Tugging her hood up more, she strode towards the guards, who looked bored and passive. One holding on to a skag attached to a harness was tinkering with his ECHO, not even bothering to look up at Maya’s footsteps.

“Ma’am or sir, I’m going to have to ask you to cease your approach,” one of the guards said. His hands didn’t reach for any of his weapons, but there was something in his stance that spoke of him wanting to. “Please present your ID and clearances.”

Maya stopped. Her hand went to her belt, beneath the cover of the coat, removing what looked like laminated credit sticks. She flashed it at the guard, who passed a scanner over it then gave a nod, signaling to someone in the distance. There was a grinding sound that pierced the air, the towering metal gate set a few hundred feet away shifting, parting. 

“Please, ma’am, follow me to the bioscanner so we can assess if you qualify for further clearance.” 

Instead of falling into step behind him, however, Maya removed a thin, short cylinder that looked like half of a staff. Realizing she wasn’t following, the guard turned around and saw what she was doing, instantly going on alert, hands scrambling for his gun. But it was too late. Some mechanism on the cylinder was switched on, the staff extending to full length, the end of it sharpened to a point. It was driven down with such force that it penetrated the pavement, quivering as it stuck there. A wave of pure energy burst forth from its crown, spreading out in a halo. The guard with the ECHO dropped it with a yelp, the device smoking before it even hit the ground. 

“EMP!” he shouted, tugging the skag into action. 

The creature made a rumbling sound, head splitting open to reveal its lashing tongue. A moment later, the guard was releasing it, its body propelling towards Maya. She was prepared for the onslaught. Tattoos glowing such a blinding white that they seemed more like a fresh brand, she let loose a stream of energy in the skag’s direction, its body freezing in place mid-bound.

“Holy shit,” the guard who’d initially addressed her said. His hands continued to reach for his gun, not quite managing to pull it out of its holster. “Open fire. Don’t let her get through the gate!”

Closing the distance between them, Maya did something to the guard that wasn’t quite a blow, vibrant energy igniting in the air. He went down and she quickly snatched up his gun, not bothering to pause before unloading into the second guard and the skag. They both flew back, leaving behind a series of red smears. 

“Get a move on, you two!” Maya shouted back at Jack and Rhys. “Their communications are down for now, but someone’s bound to notice the disruption and come along.”

Carrying the majority of Rhys’ weight along to spare him the physical exertion, Jack hurried towards the open gate. He slowed to catch his breath as he reached Maya, eying her with a gaze besot with adoration.

“Never seen a real life siren in action before,” he said, Rhys managing to roll his eyes despite the tense situation. “Fuckin’ badass. Ya gotta show me what else you can do.”

“This isn’t the time to be gawking. Do you want to get out of here or what?”

“Sure as shit do. Getting my ass in gear now.”

Jack shuffled Rhys through the bioscanner, which stayed silent, being out of commission. From there it was a small stretch to the gate, which lay open like a gaping mouth. Rhys could hear the blood pounding in his ears as Jack forced him into a run. 

“Son of a taint,” the older man wheezed as they crossed over on to the other side, great, gasping breaths making his chest heave. “I seriously need to get back into my exercise routine.”

There was a sharp crack as a high-caliber shot rang through the air, the sound of a bullet casing ricocheting off a nearby dumpster. Another shot exploded, pinging off the ground only a few feet away.

“Sniper fire, incoming!” Maya shouted at them. “Keep moving.” 

“Good thing they’re a lousy shot,” Jack remarked only to stumble a moment later, a bellowing call of shear agony erupting from him. 

Catching himself before he could topple over, he looked pointedly at his leg. More so, at the ragged hole in his pants that was tinged and spattered red, the newfangled wound beyond it drooling a steady stream of blood. A sharp cry split the air, distracting both him and Rhys away from the bullet hole. They looked up just in time to see a body suspended in the air above a nearby building moments before whatever force was holding it there dissipated and it plummeted to the ground with deadly force.

“Can you put any weight on that leg?” Maya asked as she made her approach, her eyes sweeping the perimeter for any lingering cyberforce guards.

Jack made an attempt, failing with a sharp gasp and a string of expletives. A sigh so heavy it felt encumbering escaping Maya, she told him to keep still and hold on to his ass, only one of which he did. Her palm latched on to the bullet wound as she crouched, making him clench his teeth, muscles in his neck straining. In the end, though, he was no longer bleeding as profusely. She pulled away when she saw him tentatively regain his balance, wiping her hand on her coat.

“Congratulations: you’re going to make it after all,” she declared, then turned her back on both of them and pressed on ahead.

Technically, they had crossed into Sector B once through the gate, though it wasn’t immediately noticeable. There was still a layer of grime painted upon every surface, turning things dull and making them appear worn out. Barren and dilapidated shop fronts went from frequent to more sparse, the occasional cyberforce guard they passed morphing to officers in civilian uniforms sporting concealed weapons stationed in areas with heavier foot traffic. The air became less oppressive in general, and the people traversing the streets looked like those with a sense of direction and purpose. They weren’t as impeccable and presentable as the citizens of Sector A, but they seemed removed from the burden of being bad off. There was even vegetation to be found. One particularly large tree they passed was being used as a canopy for some kind of outdoor food court, hungry individuals lined up at the stalls and sitting scattered among folding tables. The air was redolent of the smell of frying food and flavorful spices, making Rhys’ stomach give a ferocious growl. 

“You hungry there, hun?” Jack asked, having overheard it.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal,” Rhys remarked, clutching at his gut. “You don’t suppose we could risk stopping?”

“Don’t see why not. We’re far away from C by now, and they probably didn’t get a shot at any clear surveillance footage before Maya took ‘em down.”

“If you really need the sustenance, then fine,” Maya chimed in. “Just don’t let Jack go with you. He’s too recognizable.”

A bit later, on Jack’s dime, Rhys was slurping down noodles peppered with omelet slices prepared from spiced rakk eggs, barely moving his to-go container away from his mouth. They kept to less traversed corners and alleys as they walked, Maya seeming to know the way, neither of them questioning her navigation. This wasn’t their stomping grounds, and if Maya had wanted to fuck them over, she would’ve done so by now. At least, that’s what Jack was comfortable believing. 

When Rhys stopped to throw his empty container in a receptacle, Jack asked him how the food had been.

“Can’t complain, for a lower sect of the city,” he answered. Maya shot him a look that was far from subtle, prompting him to feel sheepish. “What, did I say something?”

“I think you’ll find that the lower sects can sometimes give the higher ones some fierce competition when it comes to quick cuisine.”

“This is my first time having it.” Rhys rubbed the back of his neck with his cybernetic hand. “Guess I’m just a bit sheltered.”

A strong arm went around his back, then, patting him there. “You’re better off, trust me,” Jack reassured. “Advantage is everything in life, ya know?” He ignored Maya’s narrowed gaze at him as he addressed her. “What’s the plan, anyway, kiddo? Where we heading?”

She didn’t seem to object to the pet name. “There’s a little-used subway station not far off. Sector C’s with clearance to travel into the higher sectors typically frequent it. We’ll be able to move discreetly there. I figure we can take it all the way to the outskirts of Opportunity, the last stop before it loops back into the city, and you can arrange transportation from that point.”

“What about surveillance?” Jack questioned. “Upper sector’s crawling with invisible security checkpoints. We’re bound to end up on someone’s radar.”

“Simple.” Shrugging out of her hooded coat, Maya proffered the garment to Rhys. “I can move freely between the sectors. And you, I’m sure, are free to do whatever the hell you want as well. It’s really just Rhys that raises red flags. He should be able to blend in with us, if nobody gets too good of a look at him. Any other questions?”

The coat that had been long on Maya was just a normal size on Rhys. The billowing sleeves fit without snagging over his cybernetic arm, and he promptly pulled the hood up, disappearing into its ample depths, becoming a faceless entity in the crowd. 

Jack said, “Might not be a good time for it, but I need you to clear something up for me. What did you do with Vasquez?” 

“You mean the Observer?” A slight smirk twisted Maya’s features. “He’s not dead, if you’re asking. Your company should be getting a special delivery soon.”

She left it at that, refusing to elaborate. Jack stopped prodding her for more information once they’d reached the entrance to the underground station. The air beneath the layers of concrete, plastic and steel was humid and heavy, tinged with a slight sourness that had nothing to do with the unwashed denizens fast asleep in the station’s shadowed, forgotten corners. Using her ECHO device, Maya got them through the boarding gate where they waited among a handful of others who all seemed intent on ignoring everyone around them. Even when the transport arrived, they moved like automatons just going through the motions of life, detached from any world that wasn’t their ECHO screen. One rebellious soul held a tangible newspaper, his face smooth and glowing with youth, his gnarled hands clasped on the pages giving away that he was older than he appeared. 

“I’m getting legitimately creeped out by that guy’s _obvious_ surgery,” Jacked commented a bit too loudly. “He think people are not gonna notice or what?”

“Maybe they’re in trouble with the law and needed to conceal their identity,” Rhys offered in a dry tone. “Stop staring before someone notices. We’re almost out of this, and we _really_ don’t need people recognizing you.”

But nobody even gave them a second glance. If anybody realized that it was Jack Lawrence himself riding in the subway car with them, they kept it to themselves. 

It was probably the first and only time that Jack considered that a real blessing.

The trip seemed to extend for hours, the clientele that boarded the car sparse or barely changing for the majority of the time. There wasn’t any checkpoints between Sectors A and B, so it became disorienting where exactly they were in regards to the city. The only savior they had was the automated PA that declared what station they were currently stopped at, and the one that piped up when they crossed into the higher sector. From there, the disposition and dress style of the passengers shifted. They seemed more put upon and in a rush, clothed a little bit less casually. Still, they were too occupied with themselves, even one man who, for all appearances, was likely an Observer paying them no heed. They may as well have been as interesting as the scroll of advertisements shuffling through the same few projections on the subway’s walls.

By the time they arrived at the final stop, it was just them in the car by themselves. Nobody came out this far unless they were arranging to leave the city. And hardly anybody ventured beyond Opportunity, too anxious to traverse Pandora’s perilous terrain full of a variety of deadly creatures and individuals.

Unscathed and free of pursuit, they surfaced at a nearly rural station, the barrier gate that served for the exit for all vehicular traffic looming high in the sky not too far off. Jack’s autonomous car was already pulling up for them, him having called it to the set coordinates earlier.

“You’re taking me back to the estate?” Rhys asked, concerned.

“Yeah, where did you think I’d be taking you?” Jack sighed. “I ain’t sending you back to your apartment, that’s for sure.”

“Shouldn’t we be using a safe house? If you get caught with me, they aren’t going to go easy on you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to ship you off to one of the penitentiary moons for the rest of your life.”

“Don’t get so dramatic on me, babe. I have better lawyers than _that_.” He opened the car door, gesturing for Rhys to get inside. “It’ll be alright. Ain’t nobody going to know you’re living with me. And if they find out, then I’ll make sure they keep their trap shut.”

Jack didn’t state how he would do such a thing, but the gleam in his eyes was steely, determined. When Jack was in this kind of mood, Rhys knew there was no arguing with him, that it would only end in a stalemate if he did. Nodding, he climbed into the car, Maya following suit. Jack stepped in behind them, closing the door and immediately wrapping himself around Rhys.

For a long time, he just held on to him. 

Then, like some great purring beast on the prowl, the car’s engine revved, signaling it was awaiting a destination. Jack commanded it to drive them home and it pulled back on to the road of its own accord, speeding the short distance to the estate.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, this chapter contains an explicit torture scene and the eye trauma tag comes into play, along with a couple of other harrowing things. Otherwise, enjoy!

Sitting at Jack’s desk, Rhys was making his best attempt at ignoring the state of the office and following the conversation. Right now Jack was leaning against the front of the structure, arms crossed over his chest as he hashed out a business plan with Maya. Rhys had refused to go to bed immediately upon arriving at the estate, opting instead to listen to the negotiations. Among the clutter of open liquor bottles and empty beer cans, he kept as calm as he could manage, not wanting to expend the rest of his energy reserves.

Maya had refused to sit, apparently more comfortable pacing the room. Watching her, Jack knocked back a snifter of dark amber liquid, Rhys frowning at the sight. His boyfriend was a heavy drinker under duress, had been trying to cut down before Rhys had fallen ill. The fact that he was reaching for a partially empty bottle, unscrewing the cap to pour himself more, spoke of things being far from settled.

“So, just so I’m absolutely clear on this,” he said, snifter tilting towards his lips. He drank deeply, setting the glass down as he hissed out a breath. “In order for you to help out with your kooky siren powers in finding Rhys a cure—I mean, for the nanophage—I gotta agree to helping to actively improve conditions in the lower sectors? Particularly C?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“And you don’t find that, oh, just a tiny bit unreasonable?”

Stopping in the center of the room, Maya’s hands fell to her hips. “What’s so unreasonable about offering my assistance in exchange for resources?”

“The fact that I might run the most successful company _now_ , but I’m out of my freakin’ league when it comes to undoing the real beating, bloody heart of the problem or the mistakes of the past.” Though his eyes fell on the glass again, Jack didn’t pick it up. Instead, his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. “Ones that, if I could just point out to you, I’ve been going balls to the wall for years to try and mend. I ain’t all that sure what else you expect me to do here short of goddam treason.”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t exactly call sticking your thumb in a knothole to keep the levee from breaking mending it. And let’s not mention the profits you made on the back of panic and discourse when Chiron was failing.”

“The giant didn’t have enough foresight and toppled under its own weight.” Jack tilted the bottle to his lips. Apparently, the glass was no longer adequate. “Ain’t like Hyperion did the actual deed or even poached their kills, really. The inferior company fucked up _big time_ , and the superior company got a leg up from it. I don’t even know why it would cross your mind that anything else was the case. So, let’s cut the shit with the moral high ground, ‘kay?”

Suddenly the air in Rhys’ throat became constricted, refusing to flow the right way. He coughed and sputtered, knocking over a bottle that was thankfully empty as he pulled himself violently to his feet. In a fraction of a second, Jack was at his side, shoving a glass at him, which Rhys gulped from before he realized it wasn’t filled with water. The liquor burned his throat as it went down, tingling warmth spreading to his tongue. His lungs were on fire, feeling like they were going to burst forth from his chest. But the coughs were quieting down, becoming less harsh and further apart.

“You want to do good for this city, Jack, I know you do,” Rhys managed to squeeze out, voice hoarse. “You could make a real difference if you worked with her. And I’m not just saying that to save my own ass. The lower sector— I know that most people there have the nanophage, but not everyone. There’s a reason I applied to Hyperion two years ago. It’s always been progressive in its pursuit of improving quality of life. That’s something worth being a part of on a planet like Pandora.”

There was a sigh from Jack, whose jaw worked as if he were on the verge of saying something. Instead he pressed his forehead to Rhys’, embracing him for so long that Maya eventually flopped down in a chair to wait for the conversation to move forward again.

“There is one other thing I should probably tell you,” she said after giving them an ample amount of time. Jack didn’t turn around but made a noise, prompting her to continue. “Nakayama’s plans ran far deeper than an idle curiosity about the nanophage. Or a ludicrous obsession with Jack as some white knight, apparently. He was making biological weapons, messing around with the DNA of people with the disease until they were brimming with super contagions.”

“What?” Rhys said, voice razor sharp as he pulled away from Jack.

“Most didn’t survive the experimental stages, but at least one was successful. That was the one that got turned loose in this sector, somehow. Likely the reason you got infected, if I had to take a guess. You were also next in line to be a WMD. Until he learned of your ties to Jack. Then it just got creepy and weird.” Maya rolled her eyes, then let out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Lots of the info the Observer retrieved wasn’t very coherent beyond that. I don’t know if it was from working with a dead, traumatized brain sample or because Nakayama was just plain batshit.” 

“What the hell was he even trying to accomplish?” Shaking his head, Rhys looked like he had suddenly aged decades in the span of seconds. “Other than torturing people and reversing years of stability and progress?”

“Some crazy assholes just want to watch the world burn,” Jack chimed in. 

“I’ll never understand that. Then again, I don’t get those anti-corporate types who’re constantly rallying to shut Hyperion down, either.” 

There might’ve been a snort from Maya, but it was so quiet it was barely audible.

“Well, either that, or he was pissed about being rejected by everyone across the board once he got obsessed with the whole gene splicing shit,” Jack added. “Psycho geniuses who are easily butthurt don’t make the best life decisions. From my experience.”

That ended that, at least for the time being. Slipping away from Rhys, who seemed wrought with a resurgence of tremors, Jack convinced his boyfriend to let him walk him to the door. Rhys didn’t protest, noticeably sagging, the last of his strength apparently drained. 

“Let me just get Rhysie here comfortable and then I’ll ring up my lawyer’s ECHO,” Jack said before they could cross the threshold. “Get a contract whipped up for you to sign, make things official.”

Maya’s expression was smug. “Glad I could get you to come around.” 

“Oh. Wasn’t you, kiddo. Trust me.”

**XXX**

Bathing was amazing. That was the thought Rhys had as he soaked in the warm, sudsy water, submerging himself to his chin. Behind him, the propulsion from the jet stream pelted gently against his back, working the knots out of his sore and aching muscles. He wanted to melt, become one with the water. If only the human body was capable of passing into a liquid state, change its shape at will, everything would be right with the world.

Though patience was a word that could only be applied to Jack once in awhile, he seemed to have an endless amount of it for Rhys at the moment. Time was taken to help Rhys scrub the weight of the last few days off of him, his burdens falling from his skin and hair with each pass of skillful hands. When he finally decided to drain the jacuzzi, he felt like a new person, the harsh reality of his condition chased away for the time being like shadows at dawn. Knees wobbly, Jack helped him to stand and make it down the raised ledge, wrapping him in a towel and ushering him out to the bedroom. He changed into a clean pair of underwear and turned down the bed, climbing in and allowing Jack to pile blankets upon him. Jack sat on the edge of the mattress beside him, slipping his fingers into Rhys’, dwarfing them.

“I, er, I’d rather not keep you so strung-out all the time.” Jack shifted on the bed, rubbing at his goatee absently. “But if the alternative is too painful to endure, I ain’t going to subject you to it, either.”

“What would even be the alternative? Legal synthetics?”

“Nah, nothing like that. Just plain old cold turkey. Dry you out over a few days, deal with the symptoms on a case by case basis.”

“I don’t want to just say I can handle it.” Eyes drifting partially shut, Rhys sighed. “Because chances are? I probably can’t, or at least not well. I’ve seen too many of those drug PSA’s Hyperion force feeds new hires. But I also don’t want to spend whatever time I have left constantly under the influence.”

“Figured you wouldn’t. Not that you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Jack….”

His hand slid away from Rhys’, smoothing back his boyfriend’s damp hair from his forehead a few times.

“I’ll be back to check on ya in a bit. Ping my ECHO if you need me.” 

Over the course of the next few days, Rhys’ life would become as unpredictable as a newly discovered path that had been little traversed. In lucid moments, the world was as clear and bright as it could ever be, all his senses feeling sharper by comparison to when they were lying dormant. In those latter times, not only was the world around him distant, but his psyche dissociated, anxious and lacking focus. Blatant lies and false visions, so trustworthy in how earnest his mind presented them, plagued his routine. Drenched in sweat, body quivering with aches and fatigue, his only constant was Jack, trying to calm him with soothing words, quiet his disturbance by clutching him tight and refusing to let go.

One night, disoriented, he woke up and stumbled into the bathroom, paralyzed with fear when he caught sight of the corpse with sunken eyes and hollowed skin staring back at him from the mirror. Jack found him some time later, crumpled naked on the tiled floor, muttering to himself incoherently. He put him back to bed and didn’t leave his side for the next twenty-four hours.

That seemed to be the last bad spell that he was forced to endure, that night apparently having purged the lingering sludge in his system. Though he was exhausted, a renewed sense of clarity and determination had befallen him. He left the bed for the first time in days to join Jack at the dining room table for an evening meal. Most of Jack’s culinary efforts were shoved in Rhys’ mouth in record time. The food tasted delectable, dancing on his palate in a burst of flavors. He’d finished off two and a half plates by the time Jack was clearing the dishes. The CEO was grinning to himself, genuinely glad to see some semblance of normalcy returning in his boyfriend. 

On most days, Jack would work from his home office, Rhys returning to work as his assistant when he was feeling up to the task, albeit under an alias. Nobody had the guts to question who the mysterious Shry Veritas that was working for Jack and had never been seen was. Jack rolled his eyes every time he had to repeat the name, but it gave Rhys a chuckle.

One morning Rhys woke up to a message from Jack stating that he had to work from Helios that day, but that he should access the surveillance feed for the interrogation block at approximately noon. Rhys made a sandwich and got himself comfortable in bed with his tablet, settling in for whatever was about to unfold. Usually this was where employees suspected of treason against the company were brought to be interviewed. Jack had made it a point to mic the cameras on that block so that sound could be recorded or remotely accessed. The amount of employees Hyperion interrogated was rather high, and Jack couldn’t always be there to listen in person. Not that he really had to. He just seemed to enjoy the debacle of the sweating, and the squirming, and the fumbles over white lies. When Rhys brought the feed up, he expected to see some lowly corporate douchebag fidgeting in their monkey suit.

What he saw instead made him freeze in place, sandwich poised halfway to his mouth.

Stripped to his underwear, lying strapped to a gurney, was Vasquez. It seemed as if he was just coming to, his eyes squinting against the light.

His appetite suddenly gone, Rhys set his plate aside, his heart rate kicking up a notch. He had no idea what Jack had planned, hadn’t even heard mention of Vasquez since they’d returned to Sector A. Rhys thought they had seen the last of him, or if they hadn’t, that at least Jack was handling it behind the scenes. That didn’t seem to be the case, apparently.

A few minutes passed where nothing happened. Vasquez was calm, possibly sedated. He wasn’t even looking around the room or making an attempt to free himself. Eventually Jack entered the space, dressed a bit differently than when he had left the house that morning. With a faded and stained old Hyperion t-shirt and raggedy jeans, he looked like he had put his clothes on in haste without even considering what he was adorning himself with. There was a dangerous edge to him, as if the slovenly, disheveled appearance had changed his demeanor entirely. Jack had a temper, sure. But this was more bestial, crawling forth from some deep mental crevasse where the basic animal need to execute violent acts reigned.

Rhys didn’t like where this was going. Not a single bit. His boyfriend was alone, and when he unrolled what he was carrying on to a table top, an array of sharp, gleaming instruments were on display. Some were recognizable. Many were the tools used for cybernetic augmentation and transplant surgery. Other tools could only be left up to speculation. An ordinary scalpel was taken up in Jack’s large fist, his grip on it more like one would hold a weapon rather than something used to make delicate incisions. 

“Ya know, I just keep thinking to myself,” he said, striding over to Vasquez, gripping him by the wrist. He flipped it over so that the hand was resting palm-up. “About what makes the average person so freakin’ terrified of Observers. Is it cos they work for the cyberforce? Is it the ability to mindjack anyone’s cybernetics at will? That whole creepy factor about them being just straight up cyborgs? I mean, what about all that just strikes fear into the average Opportunity citizen’s heart?”

Without warning, the scalpel blade came down, plunging into the flesh at Vasquez’s wrist, blood welling up as if Jack had struck red-tinged oil. Vasquez stayed absolutely still, not making a sound, not even looking over to Jack, though the strain in his muscles was evident with the bulging of veins. Dragging the blade downwards, Jack made an incision from each edge of the initial wound, his fingers digging under the skin, tugging it free, peeling it back inch by bloody inch. When he was done, the flap of flesh hung limp, exposing the twisting vines of circuitry embedded in Vasquez’s pulsing muscles.

His stomach churning like a storm swept sea, Rhys almost switched off the tablet then and there. By some shear force of will, he forced himself to keep watching, allowing the strange transformation in Jack to become his focus rather than the gruesome visuals.

“You like that special anesthetic R&D whipped up for me?” Jack’s fingers were rooting around in the wound, grasping at wires with the casualness of someone digging for change in their pocket. “Kinda not your typical concoction. It’ll paralyze all voluntary response, sure, but it ain’t gonna knock you unconscious. Oh, yeah. And it does _nothing_ for the pain. I bet you’re feeling every. Single. Little. Thing.”

With a flick of his wrist, Jack wrenched his hand. Wires pulled taut, frayed with the strain, finally snapped. Blood and other fluids trickled down to the floor, Jack tossing the tattered ends in the puddle, bits of viscera raining down with them. His hand going limp, the inside of Vasquez’s arm now looked like nothing more than mangled meat. Already moving on, Jack made an incision in Vasquez’s neck with blood-drenched hands, just under his jaw, narrowly missing his jugular.

It occurred to Rhys that Jack was managing this blind, no human anatomy resource to guide him. Somehow that made it all the worse. Even without the ability to change angles or zoom in, the image before Rhys left little to the imagination, everything on display in full detail. Including the way Vasquez’s body twitched and spasmed, desperate to fight, to scream, to anything, he was sure. And the expression on Jack’s face. Especially that. Eyes wide and bright, mouth stretched into a rictus, Rhys had never seen his boyfriend in such a state before.

The wires in Vasquez’s neck were promptly torn out and discarded, making the splatter pile on the ground even larger. Jack turned away to his roll of instruments and when he returned, he was holding a much more sophisticated tool of destruction. Double pronged, with some kind of looped handle to slip fingers through, Jack fitted it over one of Vasquez’s eyeballs, keeping it pried open as he moved in. In his other hand, he held something that resembled an ice cream scoop, only the edge was serrated.

“I hear removing an Observer’s cybernetics typically kills ‘em,” he piped up, sounding cheerful. Tears had welled up in Vasquez’s eyes, fat dollops spilling forth from them and tracking down his face to disappear into his beard. “Majority of them are probably in that peanut-sized, stupid brain of yours, huh? Too bad I can’t exactly do brain surgery here. Guess I’ll just have to get in there the next best way.”

Rhys flinched when Jack plunged the scoop against the rim of the other man’s eye, working it in with brute force and malicious glee. Blood erupted in an arc, spilling down Vasquez’s cheek in a steady stream. The eyeball began to separate and lift from the socket.

And that’s when Rhys’ stomach had an upheaval. Bile welled up from its depths, burning his esophagus. He dashed to the bathroom, making it just in time to hug the toilet and purge his breakfast. Thankfully his lunch was still sitting on the bed untouched, or that would have been insult to injury.

When he finally felt confident enough to clean himself up and return to the feed, Jack was staring down at an object he held between his bloody fingers, his shirt now stained a deep crimson along with them. There was even a streak of blood in his hair. He must’ve tried smoothing it back from his sweaty forehead.

“This is why you don’t fuck with Jack Lawrence,” he said in a growling baritone, any traces of humor in his tone swept away. “You tried to kill my boyfriend. Just be glad that I had the decency to leave you alive. Though can’t say how much of a life you’ll really have from this point on. Hard to tell.” Jack looked directly at the camera, then, as if finally remembering it was there. From the vantage point, the mess that was what remained of Vasquez looked like a broken jigsaw puzzle made from blood, tissue, and bone. The only sign he wasn’t dead was the slight rise and fall of his chest. “Love you, Rhysie. I’ll be home soon.”

Shutting the tablet off, Rhys felt numb. He didn’t know why he hadn’t stopped watching sooner, why he’d allowed himself to see the madness unfolding within Jack in such a horrific display. The depths to which he’d just watched his boyfriend plunge were unfathomable. He understood where Jack was coming from, why he’d want to do it. It was the fact that he was so capable of going through with it with so little restraint or wariness that truly ate at Rhys. And the fact that he’d thought that Rhys wanted to see it, that he’d find satisfaction in it— for the first time, he found himself in fear of something Jack had done. That was saying a lot, considering his status as CEO of a company like Hyperion.

Not realizing how much time had passed, Rhys was surprised when the chime of the front door opening sounded through the house. Moments later Jack appeared in the bedroom doorway. Once again he was dressed in his normal work clothes, devoid of any lingering traces of bloodstains. It didn’t matter. Rhys could still see the blood on his hands as vividly as if they were still plunged into Vasquez’s body. He shuddered.

“Cold?” Jack asked, kicking off his shoes. He slid into bed, wrapping his arms around Rhys in a tight embrace, burying his face against his neck. “Good thing I’m home now to keep you warm.”

A sigh escaped Rhys, any words he was about to say dying on his tongue. Jack shifted against him, trailing kisses along his skin, stopping at the dip where his neck met his shoulder. He pulled back slightly, looking smug.

“I’ve been thinking of you all day, you know. Even when giving Vasquez his new look, couldn’t get you off my mind. Annoying as fuck, walking around the office with a boner for most of the time I was there.”

“I appreciate that you were thinking of me,” Rhys said with a grimace. “But I’d rather _not_ be on your mind when you’re eviscerating someone.” 

“Ah, yeah. Bit of a mood killer, ain’t that.” The way Jack said it made Rhys think that he might not have been in agreement. “But, hey. Think you got enough juice in your tank for a quickie? Or, even better— how about a blowjob?”

“I really don’t think I’m up to doing that today.”

“Oh, you’re probably thinking I meant— not like _that_ , babe.” At the questioning look he received, Jack’s hand shifted, inching up beneath the hem of Rhys’ shirt. Fingers splayed against his abdomen, Jack stroked the skin there, working his way down, fumbling open his pants. “Just lie back, Rhysie. I’ll take good care of ya.”

“That’s alright. You really don’t have to do anything for me, Jack. I’m comfortable right now.”

“Maybe not, but I still wanna. When was the last time I even sucked your dick?”

“I don’t know. Probably that time you overdid the champagne and got piss drunk at the Hyperion Gala six months ago? I was terrified you’d throw up on me the entire time.” Rhys closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple, attempting to clear his head. “It’s been awhile now since we’ve done anything together.”

“My point exactly. And I think I can say with confidence that you need this more than me right now. So stop acting like you’re some kinda burden I’m playing martyr for or something. Cos that ain’t what this is about at all.”

“I’m not—”

There was little time for Rhys to get his counter protest out. What spilled from his lips instead was an intake of breath, quick and slight. It felt like forever since he’d been touched intimately, and Jack’s hands, warm and skillful as they were, were all too efficient at touching him in ways that made him ache for more. Even just extracting his cock from his briefs, palming the shaft and giving it a few gentle pumps, Jack’s hands made the world recede and his troubles fall to the wayside. He was flaccid, but such would not be the case for long.

Though Jack’s mouth and tongue had decidedly less grace and finesse than his hands, they were more than adequate at providing Rhys with a wealth of pleasure. The subdued noises that came from him, the occasional whimper or grunt, crescendoed at a rapid fire pace, his flesh and blood hand snarling in Jack’s hair, tugging at the very roots of the thick strands. If Jack was in any kind of pain, he refused to show it, his throat continuing to work around Rhys ever diligently.

When Rhys came with a cry, hips jutting sharply upward, muscles quivering like wire stretched too taut, he expected Jack to immediately pull off. Much to his surprise, Jack doubled his efforts, taking his entire length into his mouth at once. He swallowed every last drop of Rhys’ jism, only pulling off when his lover was fully spent.

They kissed, the lust that beat beneath the surface of Jack’s skin nearly tangible, edged like a razor. Rhys tasted himself on his tongue, returning clarity to his foggy brain. He remembered what Jack had let him see only hours before, revealed to him whether he had wanted to witness it or not; he remembered why he had been so wary of him to begin with.

Looking at Jack now, though, as he draped himself over Rhys and settled in with him, he couldn’t seem to bring to mind the blood-flecked, malicious entity that the camera’s eye had captured committing heinous acts. All he saw was his wary, patient boyfriend who was sacrificing his own comfort, racing against the clock, and trying his best to uphold a sense of normalcy as things crumbled to ruin around him.

Sometime later, Jack whipped them up a quick dinner and combed over research notes from R&D that he wouldn’t let Rhys look at. He peeked anyway when Jack got up to use the bathroom. None of what he saw was promising. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the rest of his food.

That night, he had trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning so much it woke Jack up more than once. The final time, Jack decided sleeping was a lost cause and retreated to his office to try and at least be productive. Rhys joined him shortly after, the conversation between them kept to a minimum. It was Rhys who drifted off first, the world fading to darkness around him without warning. He woke up in his and Jack’s bed, a mountain of covers piled upon him. Blinking away the sleep in his eyes, they widened when things came into full focus.

Beneath him, the sheets were soaked through with crimson.


	9. Chapter 9

This time when Maya treated him, Rhys was laid up for over a day. A more thorough examination with some equipment Jack brought home from R&D revealed his nano-machine count had multiplied at an alarming rate. There was persistent deterioration to his cybernetics, particularly his port. So far his ECHO eye was faring the best of his enhancements. He started marking off the days where he seemed to be able to function normally without complications, and the days that he couldn’t, and noticed the number of debilitating days in a row was expanding. 

And they were no closer to finding a breakthrough for a cure than they had been before Maya had joined their crusade. 

The writing was on the wall, and the words were written in the brilliant red of fresh blood.

So, Rhys plunged himself into his own research, scouring the ECHO net for various resources, knowing his personal search would likely be fruitless compared to a whole team of scientists burrowing beneath the surface for information. But he couldn’t just sit idle. It went against all his principles and instincts.

Rhys didn’t know how many days went by that he spent digging through bogus sites and navigating dead ends. He thought he had harvested a good selection of information over the period of time he’d been searching, but it was still so meager. When he found himself navigating an endless mound of repeating sources and keyphrases after a few days, he declared that he’d learned enough, for now. To push any further would be a waste of time and energy, neither of which he had in excessive reserve. It was time to proceed to the next phase of things.

Maya was invited over on a day Rhys knew Jack would be working from his Helios office. They sat in the dining room, sipping herbal tea and eating finger sandwiches while pouring over the accumulation of files and ECHO sites Rhys had saved to his tablet. It took them most of the afternoon, Rhys only calling a stop to things when Jack sent him a message asking if he wanted anything special for dinner. Assuming he’d be home soon, Maya and he wrapped up what they were doing, shooting Jack a reply.

“So, you’ll help me with this when I’m ready?” Rhys asked Maya as he refilled their cups, the look on his face hopeful. “You’re not going to duck out of it at the last possible minute, right?”

“I think you should discuss it with Jack first. Just so I’m not the one stuck doing damage control.” Blowing over the rim of her mug, Maya took a deep sip. “Other than that, I think it’s a decent solution to your problem. Probably the _only_ solution right now. I have your back.”

“Good. That’s good.” Fiddling with his own mug, twisting it back and forth, Rhys finally lifted its steaming contents to his mouth. “I guess all that’s left now is to set the date for it. You have clearance for R&D, right? I’ll need you to get me in there. After you sneak me into Helios, that is.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Tell me when and where, I’ll make it happen.”

“Alright. It has to be when most of Helios is inactive. So at night, probably. And I’ll have to give Jack something that’ll help him sleep. He hasn’t been able to lately, and if he does, it isn’t for long. Other than that, I guess I—I’m ready for this.”

It might have been his imagination, but Rhys thought he saw Maya’s face soften, just around her eyes. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Never thought I’d say this, but you’re kind of badass for a Hyperion stooge.” 

“I’m really not. Just practical in a way Jack can’t be right now. I don’t think he’s fully accepted that even with Hyperion’s tech and a siren on his side, he can’t stop the inevitable.” Rhys’ cybernetic fingers drummed against his cup, making a dull clacking sound. “I want to go through with this before the week’s out. I don’t want to risk having it get delayed because I got sick then end up second guessing myself.”

“Of course. Let’s see what we can brainstorm.”

The next time Rhys saw Maya, she was dressed like some great, elegant cat, black bodysuit and garments from head to toe. Careful as he left the cream colored envelope he’d recently sealed on a sedated Jack’s nightstand, he met her outside wearing an outfit that was less suspicious, a baggy leather shirt and jeans in a modern cut. Both belonged to Jack and seemed to be trying to swallow him whole in their depths, smelling slightly like his cologne; a mild distraction. Buttoned at his throat was some silken cloak that snapped and billowed behind him in the breezy night air.

“Put this on,” Maya said, handing him a shielded helmet.

Where he expected a covered transport of some sort, she was standing next to a sleek and compact motorbike, its chassis lit up with dozens of embedded lights. Rhys pulled down the hood of his cloak and slipped the helmet on, the interior shield immediately coming to life with en electronic speedometer and fuel gauge complete with a GPS map.

“I’ve, er, never actually ridden on one of these before,” he said as he watched her slip her leg over the saddle and sit down, wondering how she would hear him. 

After a second, he heard her voice crackle loud and clear in his ears. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll handle the maneuvering. You just hang on to me.”

She started the engine. Where Rhys expected to hear a bursting snarl of noise as it came to life, it merely grumbled, idly rumbling at a tolerable decibel. His arms went around her waist. She twisted the handle grip, put her feet on the footpegs. 

Then they were off, Rhys’ heart kicking up several notches as they peeled out on to the street. He saw the speedometer pick up in under five seconds, leveling out at a dangerously fast number. There was hardly anyone on the road at this hour, allowing them to gain intense levels of acceleration. Around them, the city was aglow, the neon lights that illuminated their way becoming blurs and smudges, the sounds from the late night bars and clubs drowned out by the revving engine no matter how hard they tried to compete. Every time they had to slow for a traffic light, Rhys was struck by the memory of how beautiful a city Opportunity actually was, like a polished precious gem tucked into the recess of the treacherous wastelands that surrounded it. 

He’d miss this place when he was gone, though he tried not to dwell on that.

Eventually Helios appeared on the horizon, towering over the buildings surrounding it, the slanted golden H of the Hyperion logo lit up across its face like a beacon in the night. 

“You ok back there?” Maya’s voice crackled in Rhys’ helmet. “You’re holding on so tight you’re going to leave me with bruises.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just nerves.”

“If you decide to change your mind about this, it’s fine. We’ll manage this some other way.”

“No.” Rhys’ tone was sharp and he waited a few moments before continuing. “I asked if I could trust you to not back out on me. I’m not just going to lose my nerve now, am I?”

They left it at that, saying nothing until they had closed the distance to Helios and Maya was using her access pass to gain entry into the underground parking lot. It was mostly empty, just a few stray vehicles parked sparsely among the spaces. There was no active security, but Rhys knew they were being watched by surveillance from the moment they had approached the building. Removing his helmet and pulling up his hood almost in a single movement, he was confident he wouldn’t be recognized. Leaving their helmets with the bike, they boarded the elevator that would carry them to Helios. 

R&D, as a sub-level that was actually not in the building itself but built beneath the lot, needed special clearance to be accessed. Maya could come and go there as she pleased, so that wasn’t the problem. What _was_ the issue was getting into the authorized personnel only lab that was their target. Those labs were used by reservation only, the sensitive experimentation they contained only trusted in specific hands, and certainly not ones that usually manned these particular hours. Rhys could easily hack the palm identification scan, but once they gained entry, that lab would show up as active on everyone who was watching’s radar. If an authorized lab became active when it wasn’t scheduled to become so, not only would security be alerted, but some higher ups as well.

Which included Jack himself. 

It was a risk Rhys had to take.

“We won’t have much time once we’re inside the lab,” Rhys informed Maya as the elevator doors opened to a brightly lit corridor. “Just follow what I tell you and I think we’ll be ok.”

Passing through a series of double doors and winding hallways, they didn’t encounter a single other person. That wasn’t so odd, considering the time. Security didn’t tend to actively patrol the level, as down here, that could come with too high of a risk. Most of the surveillance was done remotely. Rhys was glad for that. Dressed as they were, they weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Only the presence of Maya, who was well known at Hyperion now for being the only living siren any of the employees had ever met, would keep suspicions at a minimum. If it had been Rhys on his own, he probably would be in security’s clutches by now.

The particular lab they were looking for was deep in R&D’s ever-winding maze, though not difficult to find. It had a set of double doors with several plaques surrounding it warning of various risks and conditions that individuals would be subjected to upon entering. Rhys ignored them, looking up above the doors to the one thing that mattered.

In digital text, the sign read: _Cryogenics_.

They were in the right place. Rhys raised his hand, palm up, executing the hacking program he had built into his cybernetic system. It had been awhile since he’d used it, and it occurred to him at the last moment that he probably should have double-checked that nothing had been corrupted by the nanophage. As it turned out, it hadn’t, but he was certain he had dodged a bullet there. He hoped his luck would hold out for the rest of the plan.

It didn’t take much to hack the lock. Familiar with Hyperion’s system, Rhys slipped into it with ease, coaxing the bypass along. The reader chimed and turned green, the doors to the lab sliding open. Wrought with nervous energy, Rhys entered the lab first, setting his palm to keep track of the time.

He didn’t know how long they had, but wasting time was not an option regardless.

Passing through a series of dormant computers and machinery, a quiet hum the only sign they were even powered on, Rhys scanned the doorways off the main lab, ignoring all but one; the one labeled _cryonics_. He guided Maya there, ushering her inside. They walked into what looked like some kind of preparation room. A combination exam seat and table was situated dead center, various tools and tubing suspended from the ceiling above it, including a robotic surgical arm. Liquids and substances packed into a clear refrigeration unit took up the width of one wall, a complex console station the other. Beyond the glass panel directly opposite them, a catwalk descended to a sunken level, polished chrome cylindrical units standing upright in rows there. Each were plastered with labels and warnings that couldn’t be read at the distance they were at.

“There are people in those things?” Maya asked, moving up to the glass for a closer view. “What the hell is Hyperion even doing with them?”

“Getting paid top dollar to keep them on ice,” Rhys answered in a deadpan. He crossed to the console and powered it up, typing in a few commands. “I’d make an inappropriate, weird joke about it, but I kind of lost my taste for treating it as a joke. You understand.” 

She did, nodding and leaving him to his work. The clack of keys and the soft sounds of the system’s compliance filled the silence. Maya’s gaze fell on the protective clean suits hanging by the door that led out to the sea of frozen coffins. 

“Once I get this….” The words trailing off, Rhys swallowed, stepping back. “I mean, it’s ready. All you have to do once I’ve prepped myself is authorize the initialization. It’ll do the rest of the dirty work. Afterward, the-the mechanism for the unit should open automatically. You’ll have to manually put me in.”

Eyes wet with unshed tears, Rhys scrunched up his face, desperately trying not to let the cracks in his composure become full scale fissures. Straightening up, he rubbed at his face with both palms, attempting to get his breathing under control. Maya’s voice was soft with concern as she stepped closer.

“Are you sure you don’t want Jack to be here with you for this?”

“It’s better that he’s not. I’ve already said my goodbyes. He’d just try to stop me going through with it, and I’m not sure I’d have the will power not to let him convince me at this point.” There was a watery expression on Rhys’ face, an attempt at something other than a frown. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll be truly dead. One day, I know you’ll eventually make a breakthrough on that cure. And then nobody will have to worry about the nanophage again, and you can bring me back. Maybe with some wear and tear and a bit of freezer burn, but almost as good as new.”

Though she seemed hesitant to agree, Rhys’ optimism in the face of such dire circumstances proved to be infectious. Or perhaps she just couldn’t bring herself to dish out a dosage of reality to a man on his death bed. 

So, she replied, “On that day, I’ll be sure to supply the champagne.”

“Just don’t let Jack near any of it.” Without further hesitation, Rhys’ hands moved to release the clasps of his cloak. “Alright, well. I guess let’s get this show on the road before somebody crashes our tailgate party. I apologize in advance for you having to manhandle my naked body.”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Well, thanks anyway. I mean that. For everything.” His shirt the first to be discarded, he reached for the mechanism under his arm that would help release it from its socket. “Think you can give me a hand with this?” 

She did, the convoluted process of removing the limb made easy with her assistance. It was set aside for safekeeping. Almost methodically, Rhys stripped off the rest of Jack’s borrowed clothing, leaving them in a neat pile. His beloved socks were the last thing to come off, him handling the striped teal garments with care as he set them down and lied back on the examination table. As soon as it detected his presence, a holo diagram of his internal functions appeared above him and restraints clicked around his appendages and torso to lock him in place.

Rhys gulped, counted backwards in his head until the panic rising in the back of his mind, threatening to consume him, ebbed. When he was sure his voice wouldn’t waver, he spoke.

“Go ahead and start the process. The next time I open my eyes, I fully expect to see that champagne. Oh, and—and tell Jack that I—”

Several needles stabbed deep into his wrist, cutting him off before he could finish, beginning the process of slowing his heart, subduing his mind, and draining the natural fluids from his body.

**XXX**

If there was a sound as haunting as that of Jack’s screaming, Maya was hard pressed to recall it. It was a purely guttural, animalistic thing, the intensity of rage clashing with a sorrow that ran bone deep, combining to create something akin to the noise a soul might make if it was exhumed from the body. Then there was the physical rage, the attempt to wrench open the cryonic unit without going through the proper procedures, the smashing of the console as he tried to brute force the reversal process. After that, he turned his attentions on Maya, and by the twisted expression on his face, the conviction in his words, she knew he meant it deep in his core when he told her that he was going to torture and kill her.

Slowly.

She left him in a phase lock before he could get his hands on her, slipping away without uttering a word to him.

Jack didn’t know if she’d ever return, but in his rational mind, knew that she probably wouldn’t.

His office trashed beyond recognizable, the desk where Rhys had sat overturned, destroyed as if someone had taken a hatchet to it; precious artifacts smashed, even an extensive, snaking crack in the floor to ceiling window, Jack stewed there for days. He couldn’t bring himself to return home, locking himself away in Helios tower like a corporate hermit in a room whose interior now reflected his state of being. Not even liquor could quell the chaotic maelstrom that was his psyche. Utterly stuck as he was in his grief, unable to break free of its bonds, it would take days more before he was able to return to the envelope with his name in fancy script scrawled across it; the letter he had only read once. 

The one Rhys had left behind. 

Sitting in one of the office chairs he hadn’t broken in a rage, letter open in his hand, the words on the page blurred a few times before they agreed to come into focus.

In slow succession, Jack read through them, hanging on every word.

_Jack,_

_I’m writing this letter to you because I don’t have the guts to say these words aloud. I know, it’s cowardly. You can tell me so when I see you again. So keep it in mind._

_The past year with you has been, well, unexpectedly great. I never thought I’d even make it to Hyperion, let alone be successful there. I don’t need to repeat why it’s hard to believe, because you already know my whole past. But honestly, I never thought we’d work out as long as we did, either. I figured we’d go to dinner a few times, maybe have some casual sex, and we’d move on eventually. I don’t know. I really didn’t expect we’d get on as well as we did, or that we’d fall in love. Seems surreal now. Sometimes shit like that happens. Even with knowing what you’re capable of and seeing it with my own eyes as evidence, some times I’m just not able to believe it still. If my time with you has taught me a damn thing about life, it’s that true feelings (I’ll spare getting sappy on you) are unshakable, when they’re there._

_I also guess it’s because I love you that I came up with the plan that I did and that I’m going through with it. I can’t go on putting you through the uncertainty my condition has caused. Watching it systematically unravel you has been worse than dealing with the actual symptoms. I know you’ve done everything that you have for me by choice, but the guilt’s still there, and I can’t deal with knowing that if everything were to fall apart around you, it would be entirely my fault. You’ve done a lot of good for Opportunity. I’m sure you’ll lead Hyperion on to even greater things. But at this point in time, I’m only holding you back, and I’m too scared that it could possibly destroy you. I think my decision is the best route for both of us, that you’ll be able to move on for now, and you won’t have to worry about me or the damn nanophage. I mean, I won’t even entirely be gone. Not really. Just think of it as waiting for the right opportunity to see me again._

_Ha, I think, at this point, I may just be trying to convince myself to go through with this. I admit I’m pretty scared. But I love you too much for that to stop me, and it beats death, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, I should take this more seriously. It’s just easier said than done. Nothing feels very real right now, as I write this. I don’t even know if I’ll even leave this for you to read when I’m done with it. I should probably leave you some kind of ECHO version, though I’m not sure I could get through it without having some sort of emotional breakdown. I don’t want this to sound like my final words or a goodbye, either, because it isn’t that. Far from it. I’m banking that it’s not, at least. I believe deep down that you’ll come through for me. You always have._

_Please don’t go against my wishes and revive me without a good reason. I trust that you won’t, but if it happens, I’m not sure we’d survive that. Both literary and figuratively, funny enough. At least I wouldn’t— yeah, I really shouldn’t joke about that, again. Hard not to. It’s the only thing that might be keeping me sane and rational while I type this out.  
Oh, and don’t let me hold you in limbo, Jack. If you feel too much time has passed, that moving on is your best option or you simply fall in love with someone else, then don’t hesitate because of me. Do what will bring you happiness. It’ll hurt, sure, when I can finally rejoin the land of the living. I’ll get it, though. After all, I’m trying to have realistic expectations about all of this. I’m not a psychologist, but I think I might be doing an alright job._

_I suppose that’s all I really have to tell you. You probably know just about everything else I haven’t addressed. No need to tread old ground, right? I love you, Jack. Maybe more than I ever have anyone else in the short amount of time I’ve been around._

_Always and Forever,  
Rhys Alton_

_P.S: I’m sure you’ll find out that I had Maya’s assistance. Don’t be angry at her or do anything to retaliate for what she did. None of this plan was her idea. I asked her for her help personally._

There was a date and time at the bottom corner of the letter, but Jack was ignoring it. He’d read it once, didn’t need to know exactly when Rhys had penned the words anymore. He let the paper drop to his desk, staring at an imaginary spot across from him, mind blank. For a long time, he just sat there, floating in a blissful abyss devoid of any thought or emotion.

Then he was rising, kicking back his chair, hands wrenching at his desk drawer, nearly pulling it out of the slot as he removed a sleek and compact coffer from its depths. Standing, he carried it over to a metal panel built into the wall, grabbing its handle, wrenching it open with a creak.

_Access of non-biodegradable waste disposal unit has been detected. Please select disposal method if you would like to proceed._

Jack’s hands were shaking as he opened the coffer, the lid folding back with a soft clicking sound, ever so slowly. Its depths were lined with dark velvet, and sitting in its center, gleaming like freshly polished gems, were two circlets done in elegant black and gold. Holding the coffer over the waste chute, Jack took a deep breath, fingers gripping the box going pale with pressure for a moment. Then he was upending it, listening as the rings tumbled down into the darkness, slamming the panel closed when he could no longer hear them plinking against the interior’s sides. His unsteady finger found the button he was looking for, pressing it with too much force.

_Incineration method selected. Disposal will initiate in approximately five minutes._

Suddenly, the office was too suffocating, the trashed interior too agitating in its chaos. Turning on his heel, Jack burst through his office doors, emerging like some rare and elusive species venturing from its den. From her desk, Meg let out a startled noise, eyes wide as they fell on him and his beyond-disheveled state.

“Mr. Lawrence,” she squeaked, accent thick as she blinked several times at him, her jaw working but no other words coming out. 

Sweeping limp and greasy bangs from his sunken eyes, Jack brushed at the wrinkles in his shirt, scratched at the stubble on his face. Eyes glassy, he looked confused, disoriented, as if he couldn’t process anything in his environment. But then he was approaching Meg, growing more determined and steady with each footstep.

“Meg,” he was able to get out when he reached her, voice full of grit from disuse and alcohol. He cleared his throat, tried again, this time able to strike a smoother tone. “Didn’t anyone teach you any manners in that B sector shithole you grew up in? It’s not polite to stare.”

Looking horrified by his words, the secretary immediately looked away. “Sorry, Mr. Lawrence. You’re right.”

“Course I am,” Jack all but hissed. “Got a job for you though, sweetcheeks. Ya know, that thing I hired you for and that you come to Helios everyday to do?” At her rapid nod, he nodded as well. “Thatta girl. Hard to find employees that actually do their fucking work these days. Nobody’s got any _loyalty_ anymore. But, yeah, I digress. Need you to get word out that the position for my PA’s opened up again, and that HR needs to start conducting interviews of every eligible, capable, and willing body ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” Meg said, already typing away at her console, trying not to let him see the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Rummaging in his pocket, Jack found a cigarette, the filter wrinkled and bent but, on a whole, still intact. He stuck it in his mouth, pawing for a lighter, coming up empty. “Oh yeah, one more thing: I expect that position to be filled by the end of the week. If not? I’ll just start ejecting you all from the windows one by one. Until I see the results I want. Consider that your incentive.”

As quickly as he’d burst forth from his office, Jack was gone, disappearing back into its depths, muttering about his lighter. There was the sound of heavy doors slamming behind him, the absence of any sound in their wake turning the air ponderous.

From Meg’s desk, a series of sobs erupted, shattering the quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, I owe you a big thank you for sticking it through to the end. I sort of feel guilty for making this as bleak as it became, but I felt anything else would be doing a disservice in all regards, and I hope you enjoyed it regardless and can find some hope in the mostly ambiguous ending. If not, feel free to curse me and my cat for the rest of eternity. Thanks for reading, again!


End file.
